I 


'-^^(S(f^f/cy;liH. 


V 


■^<«.     ■-. 


X 


A 


MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS 


ON 


CHRISTIAN   MORALS 


miscellajmeous  essays  ^^&) 


^ 


ULL- 


CHRISTIAN   morals; 


EXPERIMENTAL  AND  PRACTICAL. 


Originally  delivered  as  Lectui-ea  in  tlie  Broadmead  Chapel 
Bristol.  England. 


JOHN    FOSTER, 

llJTHOR  OF  THE  ESSAYS  ON  DECISION  OF  CHARACTER,  AND  POPULAR 
IGNORANCE. 


"  If  the  language  of  sermons  be  vague  and  general ;  if  it  do  not  applj 
clearly  and  directly  to  our  own  times,  our  own  ways  of  life,  and  habits 
of  thought  and  action,  men  elude  its  hold  upon  their  consciences  with  a 
wonderful  dexterity." — Arnold. 


NEW-YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO.  200  BROADWAY 

PHILADELPHIA : 
GEORGE  S.  APPLETON,  148  CHESNUT-ST. 

MDCCCXLIV, 


P  R  EJP  A  C  E 


In  the  year  1822,  Mr.  Foster,  in  compliance 
with  the  earnest  request  of  some  intimate  friends, 
commenced  the  delivery  of  the  lectures  from  which 
the  following  are  selected,  and  continued  them  till 
the  close  of  1825.  His  auditory  consisted  of  per- 
sons belonging  to  various  religious  communities  in 
Bristol,  most  of  whom  had  long  known  and  appre- 
ciated his  writings.  With  such  a  class  of  hearers, 
Mr.  Foster  felt  himself  warranted  to  take  a  wide 
range  of  subjects,  and  to  adopt  a  varied  and  elabo- 
rate style  of  illustration.  All  the  leading  ideas  of 
each  discourse  were  committed  to  paper,  with  oc- 
casional hints  for  amplification,  filling  generally 
twelve  or  fourteen  quarto  pages, 

Though  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  volume  was 
not  prepared  for  the  press  by  Mr.  Foster,  yet  the 
above  statement  will  show  that  its  contents  are  far 
from  being  hasty  sketches  or  meagre  outlines. — 
What  these  invaluable  memorials  of  his  revered 
friend  might  have  been,  after  being  subjected  to  the 
Author's  revision,  the   Editor  has   in  some  mea- 


Tl  PREFACE. 

sure  been  able  to  ascertain  from  comparing  the 
original  manuscript  of  a  lecture  on  Hebrews  xi.  6, 
with  the  same  as  published  by  the  Religious  Tract 
Society  under  the  title,  **  How  to  find  access  to 
God."  The  bulk  of  the  paragraphs  are  nearly 
identical,  and  the  additional  matter  is  chiefly  by 
way  of  amplification. 

The  present  volume  has  been  printed  from  cop- 
ies of  the  lectures  which  have  been  carefully  col- 
lated with  the  original  manuscripts.  The  Editor's 
chief  attention  has  been  directed  to  arranging  the 
sentences  in  paragraphs,  with  the  appropriate 
punctuation.  It  has  also  been  found  necessary  to 
supply  here  and  there  a  word  or  two,  or  a  connec- 
tive particle,  such  as  in  many  instances  must  have 
been  used  in  the  delivery  ;  but  which  for  brevity's 
sake  in  writing  were  omitted. 

J.  E.  RYLAND. 

Northampton,  April  8,  1844. 


CONTENTS. 


Pas.- 

L— The  New  Year ,  .9 

II. — Spring,  and  its  Moral  Analogies 18 

III. — Autumn,  and  ita  Moral  Analogies 28 

IV. — Winter,  and  its  Moral  Analogies 39 

v.— Supreme  Attachment  due  to  Spiritual  Objects 47 

VI. — Spiritual  Freedom  produced  by  knowledge  of  the  Truth. . .  .55 
VII. — Christ,  though  invisible,  the  Object  of  Devout  Affection. 63 

VIII. — Fallacies  operating  against  Earnestness  in  Religion 73 

IX. — Earnestness  in  Religion  Enforced 82 

X. — Comprehensiveness  of  the  Divine  Law 92 

XI. — Self-Discipline  suitable  to  certain  Mental  States 100 

XII.— Characteristics  of  Vain  Thoughts 110 

XIII.— Correctives  of  Vain  Thoughts 118 

XIV.— Necessity  and  Right  Method  of  Self-Examination 127 

XV. — Uses  and  Perversions  of  Conscience 136 

XVI. — Formality  and  Remissness  in  Prayer 145 

XVII. — Watchfulness  and  Prayer 154 

XVIII.— Sober-Mindedness 161 

XIX. — False  Grounds  of  Superiority  in  Holiness 173 

XX.— Right  Mode  of  Giving  and  Receiving  Reproof. 185 

XXI,— Noah  and  the  Deluge 195. 

XXII. — Destruction  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah 206 

XXIII.— Elijah's  Sacrifice,  and  the  Priests  of  Baal 216 

XXI v.— Ignorance  of  our  Future  Mode  of  Existence .226 

XXV.— Christian  Doctrine  of  the  Perfectibility  of  Man 236 

XXVI.— End  of  the  Year ...245 


ESSAYS. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 


"  Better  is  the  end  of  a  thing  than  the  beginning?'' — 
Lest  this  should  seem  rather  a  strange  sentence  to 
be  taken  as  the  foundation  of  a  religious  discourse, 
it  may  be  proper  to  say,  that  the  intended  application 
of  it  is  to  the  particular  season  to  which  the  course  of 
nature  and  the  care  of  divine  Providence  have  brouo-ht 
us, — the  beginning  of  another  year. 

At  the  same  time,  this  sentence  should  be  true  of 
many  things  that  might  be  specified;  and  it  will,  if 
those  things  succeed  well.     For  instance  : — any  train 
of  serious  thoughts  and  exercises  in  the  mind,  having  a 
reference  to  practical  good,  and  beginning  on  one  sug- 
gestion, one  conviction,  but  at  last  attaining  the  ulti- 
mate effect,  or  result ;  ....  a  course  of  inquiry  con- 
cerning any  important  truth ;  the  beginning  is  igno- 
rance, doubt,  anxiety,  dread  of  the  labour,  misty  and 
dubious  twilight,  and  daybreak ;  but  the  end,  know- 
ledge,  certainty,  satisfaction,   &c. ;  .  . .  any  practical 
undertaking  for  social  good,  as  the  present  one  ; . .  . . 
Christian  profession ;   examples  of  the  contrary  are 
justly  accounted  among  the  most  melancholy  sights 
on  earth ;  .  .  .  .  lile    itself;    in  the  beginning  are    the 
charms  of  infancy ;  but  the  end,  may  be  far  better; — 
as  in  the  case  of  a  withered,  trembling,  sinking  old 
man,  whose  soul  is  ripe  for  eternity  ; — and  it  should 
be  so,  and  must  be  so,  or  life  is  an  awful  calamity  ! 

The  text  expresses  the  general  principle  or  doctrine,  j 
that  by  the  condition  of  our  existence  here,  if  things  I 
go  right,  a  conclusion  is  better  than  a  beginning.  It  \ 
is  in  the  condition  of  our  existence  in  this  world,  that  I 
tliis  principle  is  founded.  That  condition  is,  that  every  ' 
thing  is  passing  on  toward  something  else,  in  order  to 
2 


10  TUB  NEW  YEAR. 

and  for  the  sake  of  that  gomething  further  on  ;  so  that 
its  chief  importance  or  value  is  in  that  something  to  be 
attained  further  on.     Chihihood  is  regarded  in  relation 
to  manhood;   in  tliat  view  its  importance  is  estimated. 
But  in  the  view  of  true  wisdom,  this  more  advanced 
stage  itself  is  considered  in  reference  to  a  final  maturity 
for  another  state.    So,  in  all  our  progressive  schemes, 
measures,  exercises,  pursuits — where  is  the  main  point 
of  the  interest?     In  something  beyond  them.     Thus 
what  we  are,  what  we  have,  or  eflect,  or  attain,  is  still 
relative  to  something  further  on.     And  if  that  ulterior 
object  be  attained,  and  be  worth  all  this  preceding 
course  of  things,  then'  "the  end  is  better  than  the  be- 
ginning." This  IS  the  doctrine  of  the  text;— "the  end," 
when  it  is  the  accomplishment  of  the  desirable  pur- 
pose, "  is  better  than  the  beginning."   The  fruit  is  bet- 
ter than  the  blossom :— the  reaping  is  better  than  the 
sowing  ; — the  enjoyment  than  the  reaping  : — the  sec- 
ond stage  of  a  journey  to  the  happy  home  is  better 
than   the  first ; — the  home  itself  than  all : — the  victory 
is  better  than  the  march  and  the  battle  :— the  reward 
is  better  than  the  course  of  service : — the  ending  in  the 
highest  improvement  of  means  is  better  than  being  put 
atlirst  in  possession  of  them.     In  all  this  we  see  it  is 
conditionally,  and  not  absolutely,  that  "  the  end  is  bet- 
ter than  the  beginning." 

To  come  now  to  our  intended  subject,  the  new  year. 
We  have  to  consider  it  on  the  supposition  of  our  liv- 
ing through  it.  And  it  is  most  exceedingly  desirable 
that  in  the  noblest  sense,  "  the  end"  should  be  "bet- 
ter than  the  beginning."  We  may  previously  suggest, 
that  in  some  respects,  independently  of  our  will,  the 
end  may  be  worse  than  the  beginning,  and  in  all  prob- 
ability will  be  so  with  some  of  us.  It  may  be,  that  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  year,  the  Sovereign  Disposer  will 
have  withdrawn  or  diminished  some  of  our  means  and 
advantages  for  turning  it  to  account; — that  some  of 
our  associates  and  helpers  will  be  taken  aw^ay ; — that 
our  health  and  vigour  will  be  diminished.  As  to  those 
who  are  feeling  the  infirmities  of  declining  life,  it  may 


THE   NEW  YEAR.  11 

be  accounted  certain  that  a  year  will  sensibly  increase 
these  evils.  11".  notwithstanding  any  thing  that  shall 
be  thus  experienced,  it  shall  nevertheless  be  true  at  the 
end  of  the  year  that  "  better  is  the  end  of  a  thing  than 
the  beginning,"  it  will  be  a  delightful  thing. 

Now  let  us  consider  in  a  short  series  of  plain  partic- 
ulars, what  state  of  the  case  would  authorize  us  at  the 
end  of  the  year  to  pronounce  this  sentence  upon  il. 

And  in  the  first  place,  it  will  easily  occur  as  a  gen- 
eral rule  of  judgment  on  the  matter,  that  the  sentence 
may  be  pronounced  if.  at  the  end  of  the  year,  we  shall 
be  able,  after   deliberate  conscientious   reflection,  to 
affirm  that  the  year  has  been  in  the  most  important 
respects,  better  than  the  preceding.  It  is  possible  to  a 
reflective  spirit  to  recall  several  preceding  years,  as 
the  countenances  of  several  d.  parted  acquaintance,  to 
compare  and  estimate  them  one  with  another.     This 
has  sometimes  been  one  of  the  serious  employments 
of  thought  of  persons  sensible  of  their  approaching 
end — to  see  how  the  evil  or  the  good  influences  have 
acted  on  them  ;  where  has  been  the  most  cause  for  self- 
abasement,  and  where  for  gratitude.     And  well  may 
we  take  the  rules  by  which  they  have  judged,  while 
we  review  and  compare,  for  instance,  the    last  two 
years  of  our  life.     We  can  make  some  judgment  of 
these  kist  two  in  comparison, — and  what  is  the  sen- 
tence?    Is  it, — "  The  latter  has  been  more  of  what  in 
my  best  moments  I  have  wished?" — "it  has  not  left 
me  where  I  was  before  ?" — "  through  the  divine  grace 
1  do  stand  on  a  somewhat  different  ground  towards 
my  God  and  my  fellow-mortals  ?" — "  my  conscience 
and  I  are  somewhat  more  at  peace  ?" — "  it  is  not  quite 
so  painful  a  review  ?" — "  I  can  deplore  that  the  former 
was  not  like  the  latter?" — "a  devout  friend  solicitous 
for  my  welfare,  who  died  in  the  former  year,  would 
have  left  me   with  more   complacency  in  the  latter? 
I  have  almost  ventured  to  hope  that  that  affectionate 
saint  might  in  heaven  itself  be  apprized  of  my  improve- 
ment?"—Let  us  not  shrink  from  so  salutary  an  exer- 
cise of  review  and  comparison.    Now  i^j  at  the  end  o{ 


12  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

the  year,  on  repeating  such  an  exercise  we  shall  be 
able  to  pronounce  such  a  judgment,  then,  "  Better  is 
the  end  of  a  thing  than  the  beginning." 

This  leads  to  another  observation.  The  sentence 
will  be  true  if,  during  the  progress  of  the  year,  we  shajl 
effectually  avail  ourselves  of  the  lessons  suggested  by 
a  review  of  the  preceding  year.  What  those  lessons 
are,  is  the  concern  of  each  one's  conscience  in  the  sight 
of  God.  If  there  be  persons  to  whom  the  lessons  so  de- 
rived are  little  more  than  simply  this,  '''Just  persevere  P^ 
— how  happy !  But  to  most  of  us  there  will  be  more 
accusing  and  painful  ones ;  the  purport  of  them  may 
be,  "  Reform  !"  If  the  solemn  reflections  which  arose 
at  the  end  of  former  years,  have  not  had  their  due 
weight  during  the  last,  what  an  emphatic  lesson  they 
become  now! — gathering  aggravation  through  all  the 
last  year  !  and  now  at  the  end  of  it,  and  in  the  review, 
are  there  decided  censures  of  the  judgment,  enforced 
by  strong  remonstrances  of  conscience  ?  Is  there  some- 
thing which  we  should  dread  to  think  should  remain 
just  the  same  for  another  year  ?  which  we  should  have 
deemed  a  most  happy  thing  had  it  been  altered  by  the 
end  of  last  year?  and  which  has  troubled  the  soul  with 
deep  disquietude  ?  Has  an  important  interest  been 
trifled  with?  an  urgent  duty  still  delayed  and  delay- 
ed? and,  consequently,  a  state  of  mind  far  from  happy 
as  towards  God :  so  that  the  close  of  the  past  year  has 
lefl  us  with  admonitions  pointed  and  aggravated  by 
reproach  ?  Who  then  would  not  exclaim,  "  Let  it  not 
be  thus  at  the  end  of  another  year  !" — i\ow  if  these 
reflections  and  admonitions  shall  have  their  proper 
effect  in  the  ensuing  year, — "Better"  will  be  '-the  end 
of  a  thing  than  the  beginning."  Maya  gracious  God 
grant  that  it  may  be  so  I  that  lessons  given  us  at  such 
a  cost  may  not  be  unavailing; — the  cost  of  so  much 
peace  and  happiness  withheld,  to  tell  us  how  it  cannot 
be  enjoyed  !  the  cost  of  so  much  time,  and  means,  and 
knowledge,  and  mercy  lost  to  enforce  upon  us  a  sense 
of  the  guilt  of  losing  them  ! — Amidst  such  reflections 
on  the  past  year,  the  first  thing  to  be  desired  is,  the 


THE   NEW  YEAR.  13 

pardoning  mercy  of  God  through  Christ.  But  surely 
not  less  desirable  is  it,  that  every  admonition,  every 
instructive  lesson,  enforced  upon  us  by  reflecrion  on 
the  past  year,  should  go  into  practical  effeci  during 
this  we  have  entered  on. 

At  the  close  of  this  year,  should  life  be  protracted  so 
far,  the  motto  will  be  applicable,  if  we  can  then  say, 
"My  lessons  from  reflection  on  the  departed  year  are 
much  less  painful,  and  much  more  cheering,  than  at  the 
close  of  the  former ;"  it'  we  can  say  this  without  any 
delusion  from  insensibihty,  for  the  painfuiness  of  re- 
flection may  lessen  from  a  wrong  cause  ;  but  to  say 
it  with  an  enlightened  conscience  to  witness,  how  de- 
lightful !  To  be  then  able  to  recall  each  particular, 
and  to  dwell  on  it  a  few  moments, — '•  that  was,  be- 
fore, a  very  painful  consideration — now, " 

"  This,  again,  made  me  sad,  and  justly  so, — now. 
'....!"  "  What  shall  I  render  to  God  for  the  mer- 
cy of  his  granting  my  prayer  for  all-sufficient  aid  ? 
I  will  render  to  him,  by  his  help,  a  still  better  year 
next." 

The  chief  test  of  the  true  application  of  the  proverb, 
that  it  will  be  a  true  sentence,  is  this,  if  then  we  shall 
have  good  evidence  that  we  are  become  really  more 
devoted  to  God.  We,  and  our  life,  Q.vefor  Him,  or  all 
is  utterly  cast  away  !  In  detachment  from  Him,  think 
li^w  all  is  reduced  to  vanity  and  Avretchedness  !  The 
sense  of  this  has  often  inflicted  anguish  on  a  reflective 
spirit  sensible  of  a  sad  deficiency  of  this  devotedness. 
"  Here  am  I,  with  faculties,  and  an  infinite  longing — 
to  be  happy.  Why  am  I  not  ?  I  have  an  oppressive 
sense  of  evil,  from  which  there  is  no  escape.  I  have 
intense  dissatisfaction,  in  myself  and  all  thinirs.  Oh! 
it  would  not  be  so  if  I  '  dwelt  in  God,  and  God  in  me.' 
My  life,  my  time,  each  year,  spite  of  all  I  do  and  en- 
joy, seem  a  gloomy  scene  of  emptiness  and  vanity.  It 
would  not  be  felt  so,  if  it  were/or  God  that  I  liv^ed  ;  if 
my  affections,  my  activities,  my  years,  my  months, 
ivere  devoted  to  HimP  Without  this,  no  year  is  good, 
hi  its  progress  or  its  end.     A  high  degree  of  tiiis 


14  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

would  have  made  our  former  years  end  nobly;  would 
have  made  the  last  do  so. 

It  is  little  more  ■than  putting  the  same  thing  in  more 
general  terms  to  say — the  end  will  be  better  than  the 
beginning,  if  we  shall  by  then  have  practicully  learnt 
to  live  more  stricily  and  earnestly  for  the  greatest  pur- 
poses of  life.  If  we  can  say  of  it, — '•  It  has  been  more 
redeemed  from  trifling  and  inferior  uses.  It  has  been 
more  employed  to  purposes  which  always  present 
their  claims  to  me  the  more  conspicuously  the  more 
seriously  and  religiously  I  think — more  to  the  pur- 
poses of  which  I  am  the  most  secure  against  all  repent- 
ance— the  purposes  which  I  can  the  most  perfectly 
feel  place  me  in  a  right  element, — and  concerning 
which  I  can  the  most  confidently  look  to  God  for  both 
approbation  and  assistance." 

To  this  may  be  added,  tliat  if  we  shall  have  ac-^ 
quired  a  more  effectual  sense  of  the  worth  of  time,  the 
sentence.  "Better  is  the  end  of  a  thing  than  the  begin- 
ning," will  be  true.  Being  intent  on  the  noblest  pur- 
poses of  life,  will  itself,  in  a  great  degree,  create  this 
"  effectual  sense."  But  there  may  require,  too,  a  spe- 
cial thought  of  time  itself— a  habit  of  noting  it — be- 
cause it  is  so  transient,  silent,  and  invisible  a  thing. 
There  may  be  a  want  of  faith  to  "see  this  invisible," 
and  of  a  sense  of  its  flight.  For  want  of  this,  and  the 
sense  too  of  its  vast  worth,  what  quantities  reflecticyi 
may  tell  us  we  have  wasted  in  past  years — in  the  last 
year  !  And,  at  the  very  times  when  we  were  heed- 
lessly letting  it  pass  by,  throwing  it  away, — there 
w«re,  h  ere  and  there,  men  passionately  imploring  a 
day — an  hour — a  few  moments — more.  And  at  those 
same  seasons  some  men,  here  and  there,  were  most 
diligently  and  earnestly  redeeming  and  improving  the 
very  moments  we  lost ! — the  identical  moments, — for 
we  had  the  same,  and  of  the  same  length  and  value. 
Some  of  them  are.  in  heaven  itself,  now  enjoying  the 
consequences.  Where  do  we  promise  ourselves  the 
consequences  of  those  portions  of  time  lost  ?  The  re- 
flection on  our  waste  and  losses,  in  the  past  year,  from 


THE  NEW  YEAR.  15 

our  little  allotment  of  this  most  precious  material, 
should  powerfully  come  in,  &c.  The  rule  of  its  value 
is,  the  consideration  of  what  might  be  done  in  it. 
Think  of  its  separate  portions  in  this  light.  How  im- 
portant to  have  a  powerful  habitual  impression  of  all 
this!  And  if,  this  year,  we  shall  acquire  much  more 
of  this  strong  habitual  sense, — if  we  become  more  cov- 
etous of  time, — if  we  cannot  waste  it  without  much 
greater  pain, — if  we  shall,  therefore,  lose  and  misspend 
much  less, — then  the  text  is  true. 

It  will  again  be  true,  if,  with  regard  to  fellow-mor- 
tals, we  can  conscientiously  feel  thai  we  have  been  to 
them  more  what  Christians  ought — than  in  the  preced- 
ing year.  They  must  be,  in  a  measure,  admitted 
into  the  judgment  on  the  case,  at  least  as  evidence. 
There  cannot  be  a  very  material  improvement  quite 
independently  of  their  experience.  It  will  therefore 
be  happy  to  be  able  to  call  them  to  witness,  at  the  term 
we  are  referring  to,  while  a  man  shall  say  ; — 

"  I  am  become  more  solicitous  to  act  toward  you  in 
the  fear  of  God. — I  am  become  more  conscientiously 
regardful  of  what  is  due  to  you,  and  set  a  higher  im- 
portance on  your  welfare. — I  have  exerted  myself 
more  for  your  good. — On  the  whole,  therefore,  I  stand 
more  acquitted  towards  you  than  I  have  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  any  former  season." 

Another  point  of  superiority  we  should  hope  the 
end  may  have  over  the  beginning  of  the  year  is,  that 
of  our  being  in  a  better  slate  of  preparation  for  all  that 
is  to  follow.  Is  it  not  the  case,  sometimes,  that  cer- 
tain things  presented  to  our  thoughts,  as  what  may 
take  place,  excite  a  consciousness  that  we  are  not  well 
prepared  for  them  ?  What  then  ? — Should  we  be 
content  carelessly  to  stand  the  hazard  ?  Or  trust  in 
the  vain  refuge  of  a  hope  that  we  may  never  be  so 
tried? — Stupid  self-beguilement !  the' folly  of  child- 
hood, without  its  innocence. — A  mortal  is  to  look  with 
certainty  for  a  number  of  things  which  will  put  his 
best  preparation  to  the  trial. — Who  was  ever  too  well 
prepared  for  sudden  emergencies  of  trial  ? — too  well 


16  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

prepared  for  duty,  temptation,  or  affliction  ? — too  well 
prepared  for  the  last  thing  that  is  to  be  encountered 
on  earth  ?  Now,  did  we  close  the  last'year  quite  as 
competently  prepared  as  we  would  desire,  for  what- 
ever may  ensue?  So  that  here  at  the  beginning  we 
can  say,  '-  Here  now  are  a  wisdom,  a  fliith,  a  con- 
science, a  vigilance,  a  fortitude,  to  venture  boldly  on." 
The  answer,  in  most  instances  at  least,  would  be, 
"  No  ;  I  wish  I  were  frir  better  disciplined  for  the  greai 
Master's  service. — I  wish  that  I  could  say — I  am  quite 
willing  to  leave,  in  perfect  uncertainty,  all  events  to 
him,  being.  I  hope,  by  his  grace,  in  a  habit  of  mind 
fitted  to  meet  them,  whatever  they  may  be  ;  but  it  is 
not  yet  so  with  me." — Here,  then,  is  a  most  important 
improvement  to  be  aimed  at  during  this  year. 

It  will  be  a  great  advantage  and  advancement  to 
end  the  year  with,  if  we  shall  then  have  accquired 
more  of  a  rational  and  Christian  indifference  to  life 
itself  But  indeed  there  is  no  distinction  between 
"rational"  and  ••  Christian,"  in  this  case.  An  ear- 
nest cliniring  to  life  is  rational,  except  under  tlie  fa- 
vour of  Christianity,  and  there  it  is  not.  But  notwith- 
standing this  sovereign  and  only  remedy  for  the  fear 
of  losing  life,  what  an  excessive  attachment  to  it  re- 
mains !  It  were  well  that  this  were  less. — and  that  it 
lessened  with  the  lessening  of  the  object ;  so  that 
each  year  expended  should  have  reduced  the  passion 
at  least  as  much  as  it  has  diminished  the  object.  Has 
this  been  so  the  past  year?  '-My  property  in  life  is 
now  less  by  almost  400  days;  so  much  less  to  culti- 
vate and  reap  from.  If  they  were  of  value,  the  value 
of  the  remainder  is  less  after  they  are  withdrawn. 
As  to  temporal  good,  I  have  but  learnt  the  more  ex- 
perimentally that  that  cannot  make  me  happy.  I 
have  therefore  less  of  a  delusive  hope  on  this  ground, 
as  to  the  future.  The  spiritual  good  of  so  much  time 
expended,  I  regard  as  transferred  to  eternity ;  so 
much,  therefore,  thrown  inio  the  scale  of  another  life 
against  this.  And  in  addition,  some  of  ray  valued 
friends  are  transferred  thither  also  :  so  that  another 


THE  NEW  YEAR.  17 

scene  has  been  growing  rich  by  the  losses  of  this. 
Besides,  the  remaining  portion  will  probably  be,  in  a 
na,tural  sense,  of  a  much  worse  quality.  Therefore., 
as  the  effect  of  all  this,  my  attachment  to  this  life  is 
loosening,  and  the  attraction  of  another  is  augment- 
ing." 

If  it  was  desirble  that  we  should  be  able  to  say  this 
at  the  recent  close  of  the  last  year,  is  it  not  still  more 
desirable  we  should,  at  the  close  of  the  present? 
Then  we  shall  be  able  to  say,  in  addition,  "/am  glad 
the  year  is  g-o?ie." 

Now  it  must  be  seen,  by  a  considerate  mind,  that 
such  as  these  are  tfle  conditions  on  which  the  sen- 
tence will  be  true,  "  Better  is  the  end  of  a  thing  than 
the  begining."  And  how  exceedingly  desirable  that 
such  might  be  the  case  with  us,  if  we  close  this  year 
on  eanh  !  But  this  will  not  be  by  the  mere  passing 
of  the  time.  It  is  important  to  consider  that  this  state 
of  things  at  the  end  cannot  be  expected,  unless  it  is 
realized  in  a  due  degree  in  the  successive  parts. 

Are  we  beginning  the  year  in  such  a  spirit  and 
plan  ?  If  there  has  been  a  melancholy  failure  in  past 
years,  how  has  it  happened  ?  All  this  cannot  be, 
without  our  maintaining  an  habitual  serious  reference 
to  the  end  of  life  itself  It  cannot  be,  without  an  earnest 
religious  discipline  of  our  souls.  It  cannot  be  without 
the  Divine  Power  working  in  us,  and  for  us.  And 
what  shall  impel  us  to  desire  and  seek  that  blessed 
influence,  if  not  such  considerations  as  the  preceding? 
The  concluding  admonition  is,^ — that  we  may  not 
in  this  world  attain  the  end  of  the  year.  Hence  the 
necessity,  that  each  small  portion  of  life  should  close 
under  the  same  circumstances,  as  the  entire  year. 

The  sublime  of  the  sentence  will  be  in  the  case  of 
those  who,  beginning  this  year  on  earth,  will  at  the 
end  of  it  be  in  heaven ! 


II. 

SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

"  Thou  renewest  the  face  of  the  earth.'''' — The  sea- 
sons of  external  nature,  in  the  course  of  the  j^ear,  are  a 
considerably  interesting  part  of  what  makes  up  our 
condition  during  our  sojourn  on  this  earth  ;  and  good 
men,  from  the  Psalmist  downward,  have  not  been  con- 
tent that  the  effect  of  these  seasons  upon  them  should 
be  confined  to  .the  mere  externid  material  condition, 
but  have  been  desirous  that  the  ^cissitudes  of  nature 
should  minister  to  the  welfare  of  the  mind. 

The  spring  season  especially  has  been  regarded  as 
fertile  of  what  might  afford  salutary  instruction  in  a 
pleasing  vehicle.  We  are  now  in  the  very  midst  of 
this  genial  season  ;  and  before  its  flowers  and  bloom 
are  past,  we  might  do  well  to  endeavour  to  draw  from 
it  something  not  quite  so  transient. 

The  vast  importance  to  us,  that  this  season  should 
regularly  and  infallibly  return  in  its  time,  is  obvious 
the  instant  it  is  mentioned.  But  it  is  not  so  instantly 
recollected  how  entirely  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the 
God  of  nature  for  its  return.  We  are  in  our  places 
here  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  to  wait  in  total  de- 
pendence for  Him  to  cause  the  seasons  to  visit  our 
abode,  as  iielpless  and  impotent  as  particles  of  dust. 
If  the  Power  that  brings  them  on,  were  to  hold  them 
back,  we  could  only  submit,  or  repine — and  perish  ! 
His  will  could  strike  with  an  instant  paralysis  the 
whole  moving  system  of  nature.  Let  there  be  a  sus- 
pension of  liis  agency,  and  all  would  stop ;  or  a  change 
of  it,  and  things  would  take  a  new  and  tearful  course  1 
Yet  we  are  apt  to  think  of  the  certainty  of  the  return 
of  the  desired  season,  in  some  other  light  than  that  of 
the  certainty  that  God  will  cause  it  to  come.  With  a 
sort  of  passive  irreligion  we  allow  a  something,  con- 
ceived as  an  established  order  of  nature,  to  take  the 
place  of  the  Author  and  Ruler  of  nature,  forgetful  that 


SPRING,  ATD  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  19 

all  this  is  nothing  but  the  continually  acting  power 
and  will  of  God  ;  and  that  nothing  can  be  more  ab- 
surd than  the  notion  of  God's  having  constituted  a  sys- 
tem to  be,  one  moment,  independent  of  himself. 

Consider,  next,  this  beautiful  vernal  season  ;— what 
a  gloomy  and  unpromising  scene  and  season  it  arises 
out  of!  It  is  almost  like  creation  from  chaos  ;  like  life 
from  a  state  of  death.  If  we  might  be  allowed  in  a 
supposition  so  wide  from  probability,  as  that  a  person 
should  not  know  what  season  is  to  follow,  while  con- 
templating the  scene,  and  feeling  the  rigours  of  win- 
ter, how  difficult  it  would  be  for  him  to  comprehend  or 
believe  that  the  dafkness,  dreariness,  bleakness,  and 
cold — the  bare,  desolate,  and  dead  aspect  of  nature 
could  be  so  changed.  If  he  could  then  in  some  kind 
of  vision  behold  such  a  scene  as  that  now  spread  over 
the  earth — he  would  be  disposed  to  say,  '•  It  cannot 
be;"  "this  is  absolutely  a  new  creation,  or  another 
world  !" 

Might  we  not  take  an  instruction  from  this,  to  cor- 
rect the  judgments  we  are  prone  to  form  of  the  divine 
government?  We  are  placed  within  one  limited 
scene  and  period  of  the  great  succession  of  the  divine 
dispensations — a  dark  and  gloomy  one — a  prevalence 
of  evil.  We  do  not  see  how  it  can  be,  that  so  much 
that  is  offensive  and  grievous,  should  be  introductory 
to  something  delightful  and  glorious.  "Look,  how 
fixed !  how  inveterate  !  how  absolute  !  how  unchang- 
ing !  is  not  this  a  character  of  perpetuity  ?"  If  a  bet- 
ter, nobler  scene  to  follow  is  intimated  by  the  spirit  of 
prophecy,  in  figures  analogous  to  the  beauties  of 
spring,  it  is  regarded  with  a  kind  of  despondency,  as 
if  prophecy  were  but  a  kind  of  sacred  poetry  ;  and  is 
beheld  as  something  to  aggravate  the  gloom  of  the 
present,  rather  than  to  draw  the  mind  forward  in  de- 
lightful hope.  So  we  allow  our  judgments  of  the 
divine  government, — of  the  mighty  field  of  it,  and  of 
its  progressive  periods, — to  be  formed  very  much  upon 
an  exclusive  view  of  the  limited,  dark  portion  of  his 
dispensations  which  is  immediately  present  to  us ! 


20  SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

But  such  judgments  should  be  corrected  by  the  spring 
blooming  around  us,  so  soon  after  the  gloomy  desola- 
tion of  winter.  The  man  that  we  were  supposing  so 
ignorant  and  incredulous,  what  would  he  now  think  of 
what  he  had  thought  thenl 

How  welcome  are  the  early  signs,  and  precursory 
appearances  of  the  spring;  the  earlier  dawn  of  day; 
— a  certain  cheerful  cast  in  the  light,  even  though  still 
shining  over  an  expanse  of  desolation, — it  has  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  smile  ; — a  softer  breathing  of  the  air,  at 
intervals  ; — the  bursting  of  the  buds  ;  the  vivacity  of 
the  animal  tribes;  the  first  flowers  of  the  season; — 
and,  by  degrees,  a  delicate  dubious  tint  of  green.  It 
needs  not  that  a  man  should  be  a  poet,  or  a  sentimen- 
tal worshipper  of  nature,  to  be  delighted  with  all. 

May  we  suggest  one  analogy  lo  this  ?  The  opera- 
tion of  the  Divhie  Spirit  in  renovating  the  human  soul, 
effecting  its  conversion  from  the  natural  state,  is  some- 
times displayed  in  this  gentle  and  gradual  manner, 
especially  in  youth.  In  many  cases,  certainly,  it 
seems  violent  and  sudden,  resembling  the  transition 
from  winter  to  spring  in  the  northern  climates  ;  but,  in 
the  more  gradual  instances,  whether  in  youth  or  fur- 
ther on  in  life,  it  is  most  gratifying  to  perceive  the  first 
indications, — serious  thoughts  and  emotions — grow- 
ing sensibility  of  conscience — distaste  for  vanity  and 
folly — deep  solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  the  soul — a 
disposition  to  exercises  of  piety — a  progressively 
clearer,  more  grateful,  and  more  believing  apprehen- 
sion of  the  necessity  and  sufficiency  of  the  work  and 
sacrifice  of  Christ  for  human  redemption.  To  a  pious 
friend,  or  parent,  this  is  more  delightful  than  if  he 
could  have  a  vision  of  Eden,  as  it  bloomed  on  the  first 
day  that  Adam  beheld  it. 

But  we  may  carry  the  analogy  into  a  wider  applica- 
tion. It  is  most  gratifying  to  perceive  the  signs  of 
change  on  the  great  field  of  society.  How  like  the 
early  flowers, — the  more  benignant  light — the  incipi- 
ent verdure,  are  the  new  desire  of  knowledge,  and  the 
schemes  and  efforts  to  impart  it — the  rising,  zealoue, 


21 


and  rapidly  enlarging  activity  to  promote  true  reli- 
gion; and  the  development  of  the  principles  and  spirit 
of  liberty.  In  this  moral  spring,  we  hope  we  are  ad- 
vanced a  little  way  beyond  the  season  of  the  earliest 
flowers. 

The  next  observation  on  the  spring  season  is,  how 
reluctantly  the  worse  gives  place  to  the  better  !  While 
the  winter  is  forced  to  retire,  it  is  yet  very  tenacious  of 
its  reign;  it  seems  to  make  many  efforts  to  return;  it 
seems  to  hate  the  beauty  and  fertility  that  are  sup- 
planting it.  For  months  we  are  liable  to  cold,  chill- 
ing, pestilential  blasts,  and  sometimes  biting  frosts.  A 
f)ortion  of  the  malignant  power  lingers  or  returns  to 
urk,  as  it  were,  under  the  most  cheerful  sunshine  ;  so 
that  the  vegetable  beauty  remains  in  hazard,  and  the 
luxury  of  enjoying  the  spring  is  attended  with  danger 
to  persons  not  in  firm  health.  It  is  too  obvious  to 
need  pointing  oat,  how  much  resembling  this  there  is 
in  the  moral  state  of  things; — in  the  hopeful  advance 
and  improvement  of  the  youthful  mind, — in  the  early 
and  indeed  the  more  advanced  stages  of  the  Christian 
character — and  in  all  the  commencing  improvements 
of  human  society. 

We  may  contemplate,  next,  the  lavish,  boundless  dif- 
fusion, riches,  and  variety  of  beauty  in  the  spring. 
Survey  a  single  confined  spot,  or  pass  over  leagues,  or 
look  from  a  hill ;  infinite  affluence  every  where  !  and 
flo  you  know,  too,  that  it  is  over  a  wide  portion  of  the 
globe  at  the  same  time ;  it  is  under  your  feet,  spreads 
out  to  the  horizon,  meets  every  sense.  And  all  this 
created  within  a  few  weeks  !  To  every  observer  the 
immensity,  variety,  and  beauty  are  obvious.  But  to 
the  perceptions  of  the  skilful  naturalist  all  this  is  in- 
definitely multipled.  Reflect,  what  a  display  is  here  of 
the  boundless  resources  of  the  great  Author.  He 
flings  forth,  as  it  were,  an  unlimited  wealth — a  deluge 
of  beauty,  immeasurably  beyond  all  that  is  strictly 
necessary  ;  an  immense  quantity  that  man  never  sees, 
not  even  in  the  mass.  It  is  true,  that  man  is  not  the 
only  creature  for  which  the  gratification  is  designed. 
3 


22  SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

But  it  is  man  alone,  of  the  earth's  inhabitants,  that  can 
take  any  account  of  it  as  beauty,  or  as  wisdom,  and 
power,  and  goodness.  Such  unhmited  profusion  may- 
well  assure  us  that  He  who  can  afford  thus  to  lavish 
treasures  so  ftir  beyond  what  is  simply  necessary,  can 
never  fliil  of  resources  for  all  that  is  or  ever  shall  be 
necessary. 

May  we  not  venture  to  think  that  this  vast  super- 
fluity of  pleasing  objects,  conferred  on  this  temporary 
abode  of  our  feeble  and  sinful  existence,  may  be  taken 
as  one  of  the  intimations  of  a  grand  enlargement  of 
faculties  in  another  state?  We  may  assume  that 
in  any  world  to  which  good  men  shall  be  assigned, 
there  will  be  an  immense  affluence  of  the  wonderful 
works  of  the  Almighty,  and  shall  there  not  be  such  an 
enlargement  of  capacity  and  perception  that  there 
shall  be  a  less  waste  of  those  admirable  works  ?  We 
would  be  willing  to  suppose  that  there  may  be  a  less 
proportion  of  them  placed  beyond  the  power  of  atten- 
tion ;  less  that  should  seem  to  answer  no  end  to  the 
devout  contemplator. 

We  may  observe,  again,  on  this  profusion  and  diver- 
sity of  beauty, — what  an  ample  provision  it  is  for  those 
faculties  in  our  nature,  which  are  not  to  be  accounted 
the  highest  and  noblest.  The  mere  organs  of 
sense  receive  immediately  their  pleasing  influences. 
Through  those  combined  susceptibilities  of  our  blend- 
ed constitution  of  body  and  mind,  which  we  call  taste, 
we  have  pleasurable  perceptions  of  beauty,  grace, 
harmony,  grandeur.  And  the  imagination  has  a  large 
share  of  the  enjoyment.  All  this  is  most  evidently  an 
intended  adaptation.  It  is  good,  therefore,  that  man 
should  have  the  exercise,  the  cultivation,  and  the  plea- 
sure of  these  faculties.  What  the  proper  regulaiion  and 
limits  may  be— and  how  to  adjust  the  proportion  and 
the  balance  between  these  and  higher  interests  and 
pleasures — is  a  matter  for  conscientious  judgment. 
But  the  general  fact  is  most  obvious  tliat  the  Creator 
intended  the  exercise  and  gratification  of  faculties  for 
which  he  has  made  such  copious  provision. 


SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  23 

But  it  is  a  most  serious  consideration  here,  that  the 
value  and  the  final  object  of  this  exercise  and  pleasure 
are  lost,  if  they  do  not  tend  to  and  combine  with  reli- 
gion;  if  a  man  observes,  and  admires — and  enjoys, 
and  is  enchanted  with  the  fine  feeling,  and  all  the 
while  forgets  the  adorable  and  beneficent  Author,  or 
feels  no  veneration  or  grateful  aspiring  of  soul  toward 
Him.  Our  relation  to  Him  is  our  supreme  and  most 
vital  interest,  and  the  interest  of  every  other  relation 
is  meant  to  be  coincident,  subordinate,  and  contribu- 
tory. The  disregard  of  this  great  law  comes  under 
the  condemnation  of  "loving  the  creature  more  than 
the  Creator,  who  is  blessed  for  ever."  Much  of  this 
impiety  there  is,  among  the  admirers  of  the  beauties 
of  nature  and  of  the  spring.  It  were  no  mere  shape 
of  imagination,  if  we  were  to  represent  such  a  lamenta- 
ble spectacle  as  this,  namely, — a  man  of  cultivated 
mind,  vividly  perceptive  faculties,  refined  taste  and 
poetic  fancy,  straying  among  the  vernal  fields  and 
groves  with  a  fond  enchantment,  with  a  sentiment  for 
each  flower  and  blooming  shrub,  and  singing  bird, 
and  gay  insect ; — diffusing  his  soul  in  fine  sympathy 
with  all  that  smiles  around  him,  but  with  no  recogni- 
tion of  Him  that  creates  and  animates  the  scene  !  All 
that  scene  is  no  more  than  a  reflection  of  a  few  rays  of 
the  divine  glory.  But  this  admirer  looks  not  toward 
the  bright  Reality.  He  takes  this  faint  reflection  as  if 
it  were  itself  the  essential  beauty  and  glory,  and  can- 
not see  how  it  fades  and  perishes  when  impiety  like 
this  comes  between  it  and  heaven.  In  some  instances, 
as  by  a  judicial  retribution,  the  man  is  permitted  to 
consummate  his  impiety  by  making  nature  his  god  ; — 
fancying  some  kind  of  mysterious,  all-pervading,  yet 
not  intelligent  spirit,  which  ejects  the  Divinity  and 
takes  his  place. 

The  spring  has  always  been  regarded  as  obviously 
presenting  an  image  of  youthful  life.  The  newness, 
liveliness,  -fair  appearance,  exuberance  of  the  vital 
principle,  rapid  growth — such  are  the  flattering  points 
of  likeness.    But  there  are  also  less  pleasing  circum- 


24  SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

stances  of  resemblance,  the  frailty  and  susceptibility, 
so  peculiarly  liable  to  fatal  injury  from  inauspicious 
influences,  blights,  and  diseases.  Those  who  have  to 
watch  over  infancy,  childhood,  and  early  youth,  can 
often  see,  in  smitten  plants  and  flowers,  the  emblems  of 
what  they  have  to  fear  for  their  charge.  There  is  the 
circumstance,  that  the  evil  in  the  human  disposition 
can  grow  even  faster  than  the  good.  As  in  spring,  the 
weeds,  the  useless  and  noxious  vegetables,  the  offen- 
sive or  venomous  animals,  thrive  as  well  as  the  useful 
and  salutary  productions  ;  and  that  too.  not  only  with- 
out attention  to  assist  them,  but  in  spite  of  efforts  to 
repress  or  extirpate  them.  There  is  the  circumstance, 
that  is  yet  to  be  proved,  whether  the  early  season  will 
have  its  full  value  ultimately;  whether  fair  and  hope- 
ful appearances  and  beginnings  will  not  end  in  a  mor- 
tifying disappointment.  How  many  a  rich  bloom  of 
the  trees  comes  to  nothing !  How  many  a  field  of  corn 
promising  in  the  blade,  disappoints  in  the  harvest! 
Under  this  point  of  the  analogy,  the  vernal  human 
beings  are  a  subject  for  pensive,  for  almost  melancholy 
contemplation.  There  is  one  specially  instructive 
point  of  resemblance.  Spring  is  the  season  for  dili- 
gent cultivation ;  so  is  youth.  What  if  the  spring  were 
suffered  to  go  past  without  any  cares  and  labours  of 
husbandry !  But  see  how  the  parallel  season  of 
human  life  is,  in  numberless  instances,  consumed  away 
under  a  destitution  of  the  discipline  requisite  to  form 
a  rational  being  to  wisdom,  goodness,  and  happiness ; 
through  the  criminal  neglect  of  those  who  have  the 
charge  and  the  accountableness,  and  the  almost  infal- 
libly consequent  carelessness  of  the  undisciplined  crea- 
tures themselves.  One  shall  not  seldom  be  struck 
with  the  disparity  between  these  two  provinces  of  cul- 
tivation. The  garden  shall  be  put  in  neat  order,  the 
fruit-tree  trimmed  and  trained;  the  corn-field  exhibit- 
ing a  clean  shining  breadth  of  green  ;  the  children  and 
youth  bearing  every  mark  of  mental  and  moral  rude- 
ness. On  the  contrary,  it  is  delightful  to  see  the  spring 
season  of  life  advancing  under  such  a  cultivation,  of 


SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  "Zo 

the  instructor's  care,  of  conscientious  self-tuition,  and 
of  divine  influence,  as  to  give  good  hope  of  rich  ensu- 
ing seasons.  A  part  of  the  pleasure  imparted  by  the 
beauty  of  the  spring  is,  whether  we  are  exactly  aware 
of  it  or  not,  in  an  anticipation  of  what  it  is  to  result  in. 
Though  as  we  have  said,  there  is  much  for  uncompla- 
cent  presentiment  in  beholding  the  bloom,  animation, 
and  unfolding  faculties  of  early  life,  yet  they  who  are 
affectionately  interested  in  the  sight,  are  insensibly 
carried  forward  in  imagination  to  the  virtues  and  ac- 
complishments which  they  are  willing  to  foresee  in  the 
mature  and  advanced  states.  It  maybe  added,  as  one 
more  point  in  this  parallel,  that  the  rapid  passing  away 
of  the  peculiar  beauty  of  spring,  gives  an  emblem  of 
the  transient  continuance  of  the  lively  and  joyous  period 
of  human  life. 

They  are  not  all  pleasing  ideas  that  arise  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  vernal  season.  There  is  one  of 
a  profoundly  gloomy  character,  that  of  the  portentous 
general  contrast  between  the  beauty  of  the  natural^ 
and  the  deformity  of  the  moral  world.  A  correspond- 
ence seems  to  be  required  in  things  which  are  asso- 
ciated together.  Survey  then  the  fair  scene  and  think 
what  kind  of  beings,  to  correspond  to  it,  the  rational 
inhabitants  ought  to  be  ;  not  a  few,  a  small  intermin- 
gled portion,  but  the  general  race.  Would  not  the  con- 
ception be, — innocence,  ingenuousness,  all  the  kind 
and  sweet  affections,  bright  refined  thought,  sponta- 
neous advancement  in  all  good,  piety  to  heaven  ?  But 
now  look  on  the  actual  fact— and  that,  without  going 
so  far  off  as  those  fine  tracts  of  the  earth  where  man 
is  the  most  cruel  and  ferocious  of  the  wild  beasts  that 
infest  them.  See  in  these  more  civilized  regions,  the 
coarse  debasement — the  selfishness — the  hostile  arti- 
fices— the  ill  tempers andmalignantpassions — theprac- 
tices  of  injustice — the  obstinacyin  evil  habits — the  irre- 
ligion,  both  negative  and  daringly  positive !  Within 
the  memory  of  many  of  us,  how  much  of  the  vernal 
beauty  of  Europe,  every  year,  has  been  trodden  down 
under  the  feet,  or  blasted  by  the  ravages  of  hostile 
3* 


26  SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

armies  !  how  many  a  blooming  bower  has  given  out 
its  odours  mingled  with  tJie  putrid  effluvia  of  human 
creatures  killed  by  one  another  !  Such  is  the  corres- 
pondence of  the  inhabitants  to  the  beautiful  scenery 
of  their  dwelling-place!  The  fair  luxury  of  spring 
serves  to  bring  out,  more  prominently,  the  hideous  fea- 
tures of  the  moral  condition ! 

But  even  if  we  could  keep  out  of  view  this  directly 
moral  contrast,  there  are  still  other  circumstances  of  a 
gloomy  colour.  Amidst  this  glowing  life  of  the  vernal 
season,  there  are  languor,  an  j  sickness,  and  infirm  old 
age,  and  death  !  While  nature  smiles,  there  arc  many 
pale  countenances  that  do  not.  Sometimes  you  have 
met,  slowly  pacing  the  green  meadow  or  the  garden,  a 
figure  emaciated  by  illness,  or  feeble  with  age  ;  and 
were  the  more  forcibly  struck  by  the  spectacle  as  seen 
amidst  a  luxuriance  of  life.  For  a  moment,  you  have 
felt  as  if  h11  the  living  beauty  faded  or  receded  from 
around,  in  the  shock  of  the  contrast.  You  may  have 
gone  into  a  house  beset  with  roses  and  all  the  pride  of 
spring,  to  see  a  person  lingering  and  sinking  in  the 
last  feebleness  of  mortality.  You  may  have  seen  a 
funeral  train  passing  through  a  flowery  avenue.  The 
ground  Avhich  is  the  depository  of  the  dead,  bears,  not 
the  less  for  that,  its  share  of  the  beauty  of  spring.  The 
great  course  of  nature  pays  no  regard  totlie  particular 
circumstances  of  man, — no  suspension,  no  sympathy  ! 

To  a  person  in  the  latter  stages  of  life,  if  destitute  of 
the  sentiments  and  expectations  o^ Religion.,  this  world 
of  beauty  must  lose  its  captivations  ;  it  must  even  take 
a  melancholy  aspect ;  for  what  should  strike  him  so 
directly  and  forcibly  as  the  thought,  that  he  is  soon  to 
leave  it?  It  may  even  appear  too  probable  that  this 
is  the  last  spring  season  he  shall  behold ;  while  he 
looks  upon  it,  he  may  feel  an  intimation  that  he  is  bid- 
ding it  adieu  ;  his  paradise  is  retiring  behind  him,  and 
what  but  a  dreary  immeasurable  desert  is  before  him? 
This  will  blast  the  fair  scene  while  he  surveys  it,  how- 
ever rich  its  hues  and  the  sunshine  that  gilds  it! 

On  the  contrary,  and  by  the  same  rule,  this  fair  dis- 


SPRING,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  27 

play  of  the  Creator's  works  and  resources  will  be  grat- 
ifying, the  most  and  the  latest,  to  the  soul  animated 
with  the  love  of  God,  and  the  confidence  of  soon  en- 
tering on  a  nobler  scene.  "  Let  me,"  he  may  say, 
"  look  once  more  at  what  my  Divine  Father  has  dif- 
fused even  hither  as  a  faint  intimation  of  what  he  has 
somewhere  else.  I  am  pleased  with  this  as  a  distant 
outskirt,  as  it  were,  of  the  paradise  toward  which  I  am 
going."  Though  we  are  not  informed  of  the  exact 
manner  of  a  happy  existence  in  another  state,  assur- 
edly, there  will  be  an  ample  and  eternal  exercise  of 
the  faculties  on  the  wondrous  works  of  ihe  Almighty, 
and  therefore  a  mode  of  perception  adapted  to  appre- 
hend their  beauty,  harmony,  and  magnificence.  It  is 
not  for  us  to  conjecture  whether  good  spirits  corpore- 
ally detached  from  this  world,  are  therefore  withdrawn 
from  all  such  relation  to  it,  or  knowledge  of  it,  as 
would  admit  of  their  retaining  still  some  perception  of 
the  material  beauty  and  sublimity  displayed  upon  it  by 
the  Creator.  But  it  may  well  be  presumed  that  in 
one  region  or  other  of  his  dominions,  the  intellectual 
being  will  be  empowered  with  a  faculty  to  perceive 
every  order  of  phenomena  in  which  his  glory  is  mani- 
fested. If  we  think  of  an  angel  traversing  this  earth, 
though  he  has  not  oicr  mode  of  apprehending  this  fair 
vision  of  spring,  it  were  absurd  to  suppose  that  there- 
fore all  this  material  grace  and  splendour  is  to  him  ob- 
literated, blank,  and  indifferent.  We  shall  not  then 
believe  that  any  change  which  shall  elevate  the  hu- 
man spirit,  will  by  that  very  fact  destroy,  as  to  its  per- 
ception, admiration,  and  enjoyment,  any  of  the  char- 
acters on  the  works  of  God. 

We  close  the  contemplation  by  observing,  what  an 
immensity  of  attainable  interest  and  delight,  of  one 
class  only,  besides  the  sublimer,  there  is,  that  may  be 
lost, — and  all  is  lost,  if  the  soul  be  lost  1 


III. 

AUTUMN,  AND    ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

"  IVe  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf.'''' — Our  lives  have  been 
prolonged  once  more  to  witness  the  wide  progress  of 
decay  over  the  field  of  nature.  The  infinite  masses  of 
foliage,  which  unfolded  so  beautifully  in  vegetable  life, 
in  the  spring,  and  have  adorned  our  landscape  during 
the  summer,  have  faded,  fallen,  and  perished.  We 
have  beheld  the  "grace  of  the  fashion"  of  them  dis- 
closed, continuing  awhile  bright  in  the  sunshine,  and 
gone  for  ever.  Now  we  are  admonished  not  to  see 
the  very  leaves  fade,  without  being  reminded  that 
something  else  is  also  fading;  this  is  a  fact  more  inti- 
mately realized  to  us  than  any  thing  in  the  external 
world  can  be,  but  of  which  we  have  a  most  marvel- 
lous faculty,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  of  being  insensible. 
Is  it  not  so  ■?  How  many  of  us  can — or  can  any  of  iis 
— say,  they  have  had  during  the  recent  season,  as  dis- 
tinct and  prolonged  a  reflection  on  the  fact,  that  our 
own  mortnl  existence  is  fading,  as  we  have  had  a  per 
ception  of  the  fading  and  extinction  of  vegetable  life 
It  would  seem  as  if  the  continued  pressure  of  ill  health, 
or  the  habitual  spectacle  of  sickness  and  decline  in 
our  friends,  were  necessary  in  order  to  keep  us  remind- 
ed of  the  truth  which  is  expressed  in  the  text. 

We  should  do  well  to  fix  our  attention  awhile  on 
this  very  pernicious  fact,  of  our  inaptitude  to  feel  and 
reflect  that  our  mortal  condition  is  fading;  and  then  to 
note  and  urge  a  few  of  those  monitory  circumstances 
which  verify  this  our  declining  state.  Let  us  look  a 
little  at  the  habits  of  our  feehng,  in  regard  to  this  matter. 

We  are  very  unapt  to  recognize  the  common  lot  and 
destiny  of  all  human  life — that  it  is  to  fade,  and  is  fading. 
The  vast  world  of  the  departed  is  out  of  our  sight, — 
even  what  was  the  material  and  visible  part.  What 
is  constantly  in  our  sight  is  the  world  of  the  living  ;  and 
we  are  unapt  to  think  of  them  as  all  appointed  not  to 
be  living.    Perhaps  it  was  but  very  few  times  in  the  life 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  29 

of  the  Persian  monarch  that  he  was  in  so  refleclive  and 
moral  a  mood,  as  when,  looking  on  his  innumerable 
army,  he  thought,  and  wept  to  think,  that  in  less  than  a 
century  they  would  all  be  dead.  In  our  own  case,  while 
we  see  the  countless  population,  in  all  the  passions  and 
actions  of  life,  it  is  but  now  and  then,  perhaps  rather 
unfrequently,  that  the  reflection,  like  a  solemn  shade, 
comes  over  us, — "  these  are  all  hastening  out  of  sight, 
tending  to  dissolution  and  dust !  Such  a  living  scene 
our  ancestors  beheld  ;  but  where  are  now  both  those 
they  looKed  on  and  themselves  ?" — Man  as  he  is,  fills 
the  attention,  and  precludes  the  thought  of  man  as  he 
is  appointed  and  going  to  be. 

We  note  a  circumstance  which  aids  the  deception, 
that  the  most  decayed  and  faded  portion  of  the  living 
world  is  much  less  in  sight  than  the  fresh  and  vigorous. 
Think  how  many  infirm,  sick,  debilitated,  languishing, 
and  almost  dying  persons  there  are,  that  are  rarely  or 
never  out  in  public  view, — not  met  in  our  streets,  roads, 
or  places  of  resort, — not  in  our  religious  assemblies! 
And  then  "outof  sight  out  of  mind  "  in  a  great  degree! 
Thus  we  look  at  the  living  world  so  as  not  to  read  the 
destiny  written  on  every  forehead,  and  in  this  thought- 
lessness are  the  more  apt  to  forget  our  own. 

But  we  are  very  prone  to  forget  our  own  destiny, 
even  while  we  do  recognize  the  general  appointment 
to  fade  and  vanish.  The  great  general  appointment 
is  brought  in  our  view,  by  many  things  which  we  can- 
not help  perceiving.  There  is  no  avoiding  to  observe 
something  of  the  process  of  fading.  It  is  obvious  that 
many  of  our  fellow  mortals  are  dying  ; — that  many  are 
pining  in  sickness,  and  consuming  away  under  incura- 
ble distempers; — that  many  are  changing  in  appear- 
ance, withering  down,  gradually  declirung  in  strength, 
and  smking  into  infirmity  and  feebleness.  But  never- 
theless, we  have  some  unaccountable  power  and  in- 
stinct to  dissociate  ourselves  from  the  general  condi- 
tion and  relationship  of  humanity.  "All  men  think 
all  men  mortal  but  themselves." — "  /am  not  hopelessly 
sick. — /  am  not  sinking  into  feebleness. — /  am  not 
witherint;  within  an  inch  of  the  dust."    This  is  thought- 


30     AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

lessly  suffered  to  become,  in  the  feeling,  or  rather  in- 
sensibiHty,  of  the  mind,  much  the  same  tiling  as  if  / 
had  no  such  thing  to  apprehend  ; — as  if  that  general 
lot  were  not  mine  ! 

Have  you  not  been  sometimes  struck  or  amazed  at 
this,  in  observing  others,  or  in  self-reflection  ?  How  is 
it,  you  have  said — How  comes  it  to  be  possible,  that 
men  can  see  the  partakers  of  their  own  nature  and  des- 
tiny, withering  and  falHng  from  the  tree  of  life,  and 
calmly  look  at  them  in  their  fall  and  in  the  dust,  with 
hardly  one  pointed  reflection  turned  on  themselves  ! 
As  if  the  careless  spectator  should  say,  "  Well,  they 
must  go  : — there  is  no  help  for  them  !  unfortunate  lot ! 
but  it  is  nothing  to  me,  except  to  pity  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  be  glad  that  I  am  vmder  no  such  disastrous 
decree  !"  So  little  is  there  of  ominous  sympathy  felt, 
while  men  see  neighbours,  acquaintance,  friends,  rela- 
tives, one  by  one,  fading,  falling,  and  vanishing  !  It 
might  seem  as  if  they  were  not  considered  as  having 
belonged  to  the  great  human  fraternity  ;  as  if  they  had 
not  been  exem])lijicaticms  of  what  man  is.  and  is  ap- 
pointed to,  to  admonish  and  alarm  those  who  continue 
to  live, — but  ill-fated  exceptions  to  the  cominon  lot,  to 
give  the  rest  an  occasion  of  triumph,  that  they  exist 
under  quite  a  different  law!  "  They  were  not  of  us. 
for  if  they  had  been  q/"us,  they  would  not  have  gone 
ft  om  us."  Or  as  if  each  survivor,  especially  if  in  health, 
and  not  old,  believed  the  antediluvian  privilege  of 
longevity  had  devolved  to  him,  regarding  those  who 
had  departed  as  of  the  frail  race  of  seventy  years  !  If 
the  actual  vanishing  of  individuals  from  the  grand 
community  is  taken  so  lightly  by  those  who  remain,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  seeing  persons  decline  and  fade  into 
old  age  and  infirmity  should  have  little  sympathetic 
power  to  remind  others  of  their  own  frail  mortality  ;  at 
least  those  who  are  a  stage  or  two  less  advanced  in 
life,  even  though  it  were  but  a  difl'crence  of  ten  or  fif- 
teen j'^ears.  Thus  men  are  under  some  kind  of  spell 
and  beguilement  on  their  feeling  which  denies  them 
the  sense  of  being  involved  in  the  conmion  lot. 

It  is  true,  it  were  absurd  to  imagine  there  should  on 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  31 

the  supposition  of  the  most  perfectly  rectified  and  ex- 
panded state  of  human  feehng,  be  such  a  kind  of  com- 
munity-sentiment as  if  they  were  almost  to  feel  their 
own  infirmity  and  decUne,  in  mere  sympathy  with  that 
of  others.  But  still  this  self-defensive  unconcern,  this 
not  being  forcibly  admonished  that  our  lot  is  of  apiece 
with  the  common  lot,  is  an  unnatural,  pernicious,  and 
irrational  state  of  mind.  Are  not,  for  example,  young 
persons  all  the  worse,  in  point  of  wisdom,  and  the 
right  purpose  and  use  of  life,  from  allowing  themselves 
to  regard  their  condition  as  so  entirely  disconnected 
with  old  age, — so  unrelated  to  it, — as  if  centuries  and 
centuries  had  to  pass  away,  before  they  should  become 
old  ?  Are  not  those  who  are  in  strong  health  as  if  they 
were  on  a  different  planet  from  those  who  are  feeble 
or  sick?  Are  not  the  living,  as  if  it  never  could  be, 
that  they  should  come  to  be  in  the  state  of  the  dead? 

We  are  apt  to  regard  life  much  more  as  a  thing  that 
we  positively  possess  than  as  a  thing  that  we  are  losing; 
and  in  a  train  to  cease  possessing.  We  are  consider- 
ing life  in  the  sense  of  the  duration  of  living.  We 
thoughtlessly  permit  an  imposition  on  our  feelings,  as 
if  life  were  a  substantive  property,  which  we  possessed 
years  since  and  equally  now  possess.  To  be  alive  is 
the  same  consciousness  7igio  as  then  ;  and  so  we  for- 
get the  essentially  different  condition  we  are  in.  Life 
in  the  case  of  a  being  that  should  be  certainly  immor- 
tal might  be  considered  as  an  absolute  possession.  But 
with  us,  life  is  expenditure :  we  have  ii  but  as  continu- 
ally losing  it ;  we  have  no  use  of  it,  but  as  continually 
wasting  it.  Suppose  a  maif  confined  in  some  fortress, 
under  the  doom  to  stay  there  till  his  death  ;  and  sup- 
pose there  is  there  for  his  use,  a  dark  reservoir  of 
water,  to  which  it  is  certain  none  can  ever  be  added. 
He  knows,  suppose,  that  the  quantity  is  not  very  great ; 
he  cannot  penetrate  to  ascertain  how  much,  but  it  may 
be  very  little.  He  has  drawn  from  it  by  means  of  a 
fountain  a  good  while  already,  and  draws  from  it  every 
day  ; — but  how  would  he  feel  each  time  of  drawing, 
and  each  time  of  thinking  of  it  ?  not  as  if  he  had  ape- 


32 


AUTTTMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 


rennial  spring  to  go  to;  not,  "I  have  a  reservoir, — I 
may  be  at  ease."  No  !  but,  "  I  had  water  yesterday; 
— 1  have  water  to-day; — but  my  having  had  it,  and  my 
having  it  to-dny.  is  tht^  very  cause  that  I  shall  7?o/ have 
it  on  some  day  that  is  approaching.  At  the  same  time 
I  am  con)pelled  to  this  fatal  expenditure  !"  So  ol*  our 
mortal,  transient  life!  And  yet  men  are  very  indis- 
posed to  admit  the  plain  truth  that  life  is  a  thing  which 
they  are  in  no  other  way  possessing,  than  as  neces- 
sarily consuming;  and  that  even  in  this  imperfect 
sense  of  possession,  it  becomes  every  day  less  a  pos- 
session !  We  sometimes  see  that  the  longer  a  man 
has  been  in  the  expenditure  of  it,  the  more  securely  he 
seems  to  feel  it  a  property  positive,  entire,  and  his 
own. 

With  many,  the  plain  testimony  of  time  comes 
home  with  fir  too  little  force, — time  had,  and  spent, 
and  gone,  since  their  recorded  nativity.  They  have 
attained  the  age  of  forty,  fifty,  fifty-five,  sixty,  or  more, 
and  yet  will  not  lay  it  to  heart,  that  they  have  en- 
tered, or  gone  a  great  way  forward  in  the  latter  part 
of  any  probable  length  of  life. 

It  may  be  observed  that  some  persons,  after  arriv- 
ing at  the  part  of  life  which  we  call  "  middle  age."  re- 
main a  good  while  but  little  altered  in  their  feeling  of 
health,  in  their  power  of  activity,  or  even  in  their  ap- 
pearance,— a  great  privilege  ! — but  if  they  be  not  per- 
sons of  serious  reflection,  it  may  be  very  pernicious  to 
their  highest  interests.  They  will  allow  themselves 
to  feel  as  if  they  still  belonged  to  a  much  earlier  stage. 
They  can  associate  still 'With  the  youthful,  on  some- 
what like  equal  terms.  They  will  consolidate  all 
their  worldly  habits,  and  give  themselves  up  to 
schemes  formed  for  a  long  time  to  come.  They  feel 
as  if  they  had  a  fine.  long,  protracted  summer  season, 
to  make  the  most  of  life  and  the  world.  '1  hey  reckon, 
probably,  on  the  utmost  term  of  mortal  life,  and  with 
great  self-complacency,  pass  by  the  graves  of  their 
departed  sickly  coevals.  Some  of  these  persons  re- 
tain so  much  spirit,  vivacity,  activity,  and  good  ap- 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  33 

pearance,  that  they  are  not  as  yet  much  haunted  with 
the  aversion  and  dread  of  being  accounted  old. 

But  it  is  obvious  to  remark,  that  many  persons  fad- 
ing into  the  dechne  of  hfe,  betray  a  sohcitous  reluc- 
tance to  being  considered  and  classed  with  the  elderly 
and  the  old.  They  discover,  perhaps  in  spite  of  some 
effort,  a  sensation  of  chagrin  at  hearing  expressions 
which  directly,  or  by  implication,  assign  them  to  the 
aged  class ;  prematurely  assign  them  they  think,  or 
would  have  it  thought;  so  that  it  becomes  a  point  of 
complaisance  to  beware  of  using  any  such  expressions 
in  their  presence.  Some  such  persons  have  recourse 
to  expedients,  undignified,  and  at  the  same  time  una- 
vailing, for  the  purpose  of  keeping  their  former 
ground, — as,  an  ill-judged  labour  of  personal  decora- 
tion, a  style  of  dress  and  ornaments  perhaps  little 
worthy  of  intelligence  and  piety  at  any  age  ;  but  at 
any  rate  inappropriate  to  any  but  the  more  lightsome 
form  and  unfaded  countenance ; — a  forced,  over-acted 
vivacity,  even  an  attempted  rivalry,  with  not  the  gay- 
ety  only,  but  the  very  levity  of  youth,  as  if  they  posi- 
tively would  not  be  old  enough  to  be  grave  on  any 
subject; — a  resolute  addiction  to  amusements,  and 
what  is  called  company. 

Such  are  some  of  the  characteristics  of  men's  insen- 
sibility to  the  solemn  fact  that  "we  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf" 
Now  this  insensibility  is  partly  wilful ;  for  it  is  partly 
owing  to  our  indulging  a  reluctance  to  perceive  and 
think  of  the  signs  and  proofs  which  remind  us  of  the 
fact  that  we  are  fading.  Therefore  it  is  highly  pro- 
per there  should  be  a  solemn  remonstrance  against 
this  perverse  indisposition,  and  an  endeavour  to  press 
on  the  attention  those  circumstances  and  reflections 
which  are  adapted  to  remind  us  of  the  fading,  vanish- 
ing condition  of  our  mortal  existence.  They  are 
mighty  in  number !  If  the  soul  would  expand  itself,  and 
with  a  lively  sensibility  to  receive  upon  it  the  signifi- 
cance, the  glancing  intimation,  the  whispered  moni- 
tion of  all  things  that  are  adapted  to  remind  it  of  the 
fact, — what  a  host  of  ideas  would  strike  it !  Then  we 
4 


34  AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

should  hardly  see  a  shadow  pass, — or  a  vapour  rise, 
— or  a  flower  fade, — or  a  leaf  iall, — still  less  a  human 
visage  withered  in  age, — hut  we  should  have  a  thought 
of  the  transient  continuance  of  our  life. 

It  would  not  be  foreign  to  the  purpose  to  reflect  how 
many  successive  generations  of  men  have  faded  and 
vanished  since  the  text  itself  was  written ;  as  many  as 
there  have  been  falls  of  the  leaf  since  the  first  autumn 
which  the  oldest  person  among  us  can  remember,  at 
the  average  duration.  Let  such  a  person  glance  on 
the  long  repetition  of  this  great  change  over  the  face 
of  the  earth, — and  think  of  Man  !  And  imagine  some 
great  spirit  to  have  been  an  observer  of  the  human 
race  through  all  this  series  of  ages  I — within  his  view 
the  entire  multitude  gone — once, — and  once  again, — 
and  still  again ! 

To  our  view,  however,  there  is  a  grand  circumstance 
of  deception,  with  respect  to  the  removal  and  the  re- 
newal of  the  race.  Human  beings  are  continually 
going  and  coming,  so  that,  though  all  die,  Man  in  his 
vast  assemblage,  is  always  here.  If  there  were  not  an 
essential  absurdity  in  making  the  supposition  that  a 
great  majority  of  the  whole  race  were,  at  successive 
periods,  to  sink  in  dissolution  at  once,  or  such  a  portion 
as  inhabited  any  one  country,  that  might  be  imagined 
an  amazingly  striking  phenomenon  to  those  that  re- 
mained, to  grow  into  another  population.  But  the 
order  of  the  world  is  that  men  be  withdrawn  one  by 
one,  one  here  and  one  there,  leaving  the  mighty  mass, 
to  general  appearance,  still  entire.  Exceptin  the  case 
of  vast  and  desolating  calamities.  Thus  we  see  no- 
thing parallel  to  the  general  autumnal  fiiding  of  the 
leaf  More  like  the  evergreens,  which  lose  their  leaves 
by  individuals,  and  still  maintain  their  living  fohage, 
— to  the  thoughtless  spectator,  the  human  race  is  pre- 
sented under  such  a  fallacious  appearance,  as  if  it 
always  lived. 

But  a  man  should  have  serious  consideration  enough 
to  look  through  this  deception.  An  aged  person,  es- 
pecially if  he  has  always  continued  chiefly  in  one 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL   ANALOGIES.  35 

neighbourhood,  can  verify  to  himself  that  he  has  actu- 
ally seen  one  whole  distinguishable  generation  fade 
and  disappear  ; — can  recollect  who  his  early  acquaint- 
ances were  around  the  district,  and  has  seen  them 
gradually  go  ;  and  now  sees  that  they  are  nearly  all 
gone, — only  himself  and  a  very  few  others  remaining, 
like  the  last  few  faded  leaves,  lingering  and  fluttering 
on  a  tree.  Indeed,  if  a  very  old  man,  he  has  seen  the 
main  substance  of  two  generations  vanish.  But  let 
those  even  in  very  early  life  consider,  that  they  have 
seen  one  and  another  near  them  fade  and  fall ;  and 
how  many  before  what  we  regard  as  the  proper  sea- 
son for  fading  ! 

Here  another  warning  suggestion  arises  ;  that  we 
allow  ourselves  to  miscalculate  the  appropriate  season 
for  fading.  Our  imagination  places  that  "season  in  old 
age.  Most  delusively  !*  for  surely  that  cannot  be 
taken  as  the  appropriate  season,  long  previously  to 
which  the  grand  majority  actually  do  fade  into  disso- 
lution. Those  who  live  to  quite  an  advanced  old  age 
are  so  vastly  smaller  a  proportion,  that  it  were  most 
absurd  to  take  them  as  representative  of  the  human 
lot,  in  respect  to  length  of  life.  The  period  to  be  ac- 
counted in  a  general  collective  calculation,  as  the 
proper  term  of  mortality,  cannot  rightly  be  placed  be- 
yond such  a  stage  in  life  as  a  large  proportion  of  men 
do  attain,  but  not  exceed.  The  comparison  with  the 
leaves  here  again  fails.  The  main  mass  of  the  foliage 
of  the  forest  does  continue  on  to  the  late  period  which 
none  of  it  can  survive.  Not  so  in  the  case  of  human 
beings.  The  great  majority  of  them  are  not  appoint- 
ed to  reach  what  we  are  accustomed  to  regard  as  the 
late  autumn  of  life.  Therefore  young  persons  are  to 
be  earnestly  warned  against  calculating  on  that  as 
even  a  probability.  They  are  apt  to  overlook,  in  their 
calculation,  all  causes  of  decay  and  dissolution  but  that 
of  mere  protracted  time.  But  do  let  them  consider 
how  few  comparatively  are  left  to  the  mere  wearing 
out  by  time  !  On  the  field  of  life  there  are  a  thousand 
things  in  operation  to  anticipate  time.     These  are  to 


36  AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

be  taken  into  the  account,  and  as  forming  the  far 
greater  part  of  it,  in  conjecturing  at  any  probable 
term  for  the  duration  of  life.  If  these  be  taken  into 
the  account,  liovv  very  limited  is  the  term  of  probabili- 
ty! Then  let  no  young  persons  amuse  themselves 
with  flattering  lies,  and  say,  "  We  may  probabhj  live 
to  the  far  off  term  of  eighty !"  But  some  of  them  may 
perhaps  truly  say,  "  We  do  not  much  think  about  such 
calculations  in  any  way.  It  is  enough  that  for  the 
present  we  are  youthful  and  bloominiz;  there  is  no 
fading,  nor  sign  of  its  approach."  So  have  many  felt, 
and  perhaps  said,  in  ansvver  to  grave  admonitions,  who, 
before  the  next  fall  of  the  leaf,  have  withered  and 
died !  So  before  the  fading  of  next  autumn  will  many, 
many  more,  now  gay  and  blooming. 

But  without  insisting  on  these  threatening  possibili- 
ties of  premature  decline,  consider  that,  to  a  reflective 
mind,  the  constant,  inevitable  progress  toicard  fading 
would  appear  very  much  related  to  it;  to  have  daily, 
less  and  less  of  that  intermediate  space  which  is  all 
that  there  can  be  between.  One  has  looked  sometimes 
on  the  flowers  of  a  meadow  which  the  mower's  scythe 
was  to  invade  the  next  day ; — perfect  life  and  beauty  as 
yet, — but  to  the  mind  they  have  seemed  already  fading, 
through  the  anticipation.  If  we  turn  to  those  who  are 
a  good  way,  or  quite  far  advanced  in  life,  they  can  tell 
how  rapidly  that  vernal  season  has  passed  away; — 
how  much  it  looks  in  the  review  like  an  absolutely 
preternatural  fleetness  of  time.  As  to  their  now  more 
advanced  period,  there  are  many  palpable  intimations 
in  their  experience  to  remind  them  of  the  truth  in  the 
text.  Even  those  who  are  ranked  as  the  middle  aged, 
have  much  that  speaks  to  them  in  a  serious  and  warn- 
ing voice.  They  are  most  of  them  sensible  by  iheir 
consciousness,  as  well  as  by  the  record  of  years,  that 
one  grand  season  of  their  terrestrial  existence  is  gone 
by.  Let  them  think  what  ihey  feel  to  be  gone; — 
freshness  of  life  ; — vernal  prime  ; — overflowing  spirits; 
— elastic,  bounding  vigour  ; — insuppressible  activity  ; 
— quick,  ever  varying  emotion; — delightful  unfolding 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  37 

of  the  faculties; — the  sense  of  more  and  more  power 
of  both  body  and  spirit; — the  prospect  as  if  hfe  were 
entire  before  them;— and  all  overspread  witli  bright- 
nesss  and  fmr  colours !  This  is  gone !  and  this 
change  is  not  a  little  toward  the  fading.  Those  poig- 
nantly feel  it  to  be  so  who  look  back  with  sadness,  or 
with  vain  fretfulness,  to  think  it  cannot  be  recalled. 

But  there  are  still  more  decided  indications  of  decay. 
Some  indeed  remain  considerably  stationary :  but  as 
to  the  majority,  there  are  circumstances  that  will  not 
let  them  forget  whereabouts  they  are  in  life  ;  feelings 
of  positive  infirmity;— diminished  power  of  exertion  ; — 
gray  hairs; — failure  of  sight  ;  besetting  pains ;  appre- 
hensive caution  against  harm  and  inconvenience  ; — 
often  what  are  called  nervous  affections; — shght  inju- 
ries to  the  body  far  less  easily  repaired.  All  this  is  a 
great  progress  in  the  fading.  The  appearance  par- 
takes of  and  indicates  the  decline  ;  not  so  perceptible 
to  the  person  himself,  or  to  constant  associates,  but 
often  strikes  acquaintance  who  see  one  another  after 
long  absence. 

From  this  stage  there  is  a  very  rapid  descent  toward 
complete  old  age,  with  its  accumulated  privations  and 
oppressions ;  general  prostration  of  strength  ; — often 
settled  disorders  operating  with  habitual  grievance ; — 
loss  of  memory ; — furrows  marking  the  countenance  ; — 
great  suffering  by  little  inconveniences; — confinement 
in  a  great  measure  to  a  spot ; — a  strange  and  mighty 
dissevcrment,  as  it  were,  from  the  man's  own  earthly 
youthful  self  In  some  instances  there  is  a  last  decline 
into  an  utterly  withered  state  of  existence  ; — imbeciHty 
wholly  of  body  and  mind.  The  final  point  is  that  of 
the  fallen  leaves,  to  be  reduced  to  dust. 

It  will,  perhaps,  be  said,  "  This  is  a  most  gloomy 
view  of  human  life.  Why  exhibit  it  at  such  width, 
and  darken  it  with  so  many  aggravations  of  shade,  as  if 
to  cloud  the  little  sunshine  that  glimmers  on  our  lot  ?" 
We  answer,  nolhmg  worth  is  that  sunshine  that  will 
not  pierce  radiantly  through  this  cloud.  No  compla- 
cency, no  cheerfulness,  no  delight,  is  worth  having 
5 


33 


AUTUMN,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 


that  cannot  be  enjoyed  to^refher  with  the  contemplation' 
of  this  view  ot^our  nnortal  condition.  SucJi  an  exhibi- 
tion— is  it  truth?  is  it  fact?  and  is  it  truth  and  fact  ir- 
resistibly bearing  on  our  own  concern  ?  Then  the  en- 
deavour to  be  escaping  from  the  view  and  thought  of 
it  would  be  a  thing  incomparably  more  gloomy  to  be- 
hold than  all  that  this  exhibition  presents !  because 
that  would  betray  the  want,  the  neglect,  the  rejection 
of  the  grand  resource  against  the  gloom  of  our  mortal 
■tate  and  destiny. 

To  an  enlightened  beholder  of  mankind,  it  is?io^  their 
being  all  under  the  doom  to  fade,  be  dissolved,  and 
vanish. — it  is  not  that  that  strikes  him  as  the  deepest 
gloom  of  the  scene;  no! — but  their  being  thoughtless 
of  this  their  condition, — their  not  see^king  the  true  and 
all-powerful  consolation  under  it ; — their  not  earnestly 
looking  and  aiming  toward  that  glorious  state  into 
which  they  may  emerge  from  this  fading  and  perish- 
ing existence.  The  melancholy  thing,  by  emphasis, 
is,  that  beings  under  such  a  doom  should  disregard 
that  grand  countervailing  economy  of  the  divine  benefi- 
cence in  which  "  life  and  immortality  are  brought  to 
light," — in  which  the  Lord  of  life  has  himself  submit- 
ted to  the  lot  of  mortals  in  order  to  redeem  them  to  the 
prospect  of  another  life,  where  there  is  no  fading,  de- 
cline, or  dissolution  ! 

Let  us  not  then  absurdly  turn  from  the  view  because 
it  is  grave  and  gloomy,  but  dwell  upon  it,  often  and 
intensely,  for  the  great  purpose  of  exciting  our  spirits 
to  a  victory  over  the  vani;y  of  our  presentcondition; — 
to  gain  from  it,  through  the  aid  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  a 
mighty  impulse  toward  a  state  of  ever-living,  ever- 
blooming  existence  beyond  the  sky.  A  man  who  feels 
this  would  accept  no  substitute  consolation  against 
the  gloomy  character  of  this  mortal  life  ;  not  the  high- 
est health,  not  the  most  exuberant  spirits. — nor  early 
youth  itself,  if  it  were  possible  for  that  to  be  renewed. 
'•No,  rather  let  me  fade — let  me  languish — let  me  feel 
that  mortality  is  upon  me,  and  that  the  terrestrial 
scene  is  darkening  around  me,  but  with  this  inspiration 


WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  39 

of  faith  and  hope — this  rising  energy — which  is  already- 
carrying  me  out  of  an  existence  which  is  all  frailty,  into 
one  of  vigour,  and  power,  and  perpetuity  !' ' 


IV. 

WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

"  Thou  hast  made — Winter  !" — It  is  our  own  fault, 
if  any  very  marked  part  of  the  great  vicissitudes  of  the 
natural  world  in  which  we  are  sojourning,  shall  pass 
by  us  without  yielding  instruction  of  a  special  kind,  as 
well  as  that  which  we  should  be  reaping  from  all  our 
time.  There  is  some  peculiar  inscription  by  the  "  fin- 
ger of  God  "  on  each  presented  view  of  his  works. 

The  winter  is  generally  felt  as  an  unpleasing  and 
gloomy  season  of  the  year  ;  the  more  desirable  is  it  to 
make  it  yield  us  some  special  good,  by  way  of  compen- 
sation. The  practicability  of  doing  this,  displays  the 
excellence  of  mind  above  matter,  and  the  advantage 
of  religion.  The  sky  is  gloomy; — the  light  brief  and 
faint; — the  earth  torpid,  sterile,  and  deprived  of  beau- 
ty;— the  whole  system  of  the  elements  ungenial,  like 
a  general  refusal  of  nature  to  please  us.  or  aflford  us  any 
thing.  Well,  but  mind,  with  the  aid  of  wisdom  and 
religion,  may  not  only  flourish  within  itself,  but  may 
compel  the  very  winter  to  afford  assistance  to  its  doing 
so.  It  may  raise  a  richer  produce  than  what  the  ag- 
riculturist can  in  spring  and  summer.  And  perhaps  the 
truth  is,  that  wisdom  and  piety  might  find  or  make  all 
seasons  and  scenes  nearly  equal,  in  point  of  yielding 
the  most  valuable  advantage.  There  are  gratifying 
examples  to  this  purpose. 

Let  us  consider  what  the  winter  season  might  offer 
In  aid  of  instructive  reflection.  We  may  revert  to  the 
expression,  '•  Thou  hast  made — winter."  God's  Vv'^ork 
and  wisdom  in  it  are  to  be  regarded.  The  Almighty 
Maker  has  fixed  in  the  order  of  the  world  that  which 
ie  the  natural  cause  of  the  winter ;  a  most  remarkable 


40  WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

adjustment  of  supreme  wisdom  and  power,  appearing 
at  first  view,  something  like  irregularity  and  disorder, 
— that  is,  the  inclination  of  the  earth's  axis.  We  may 
note  the  signal  benefits  of  this  adjustment  to  the  whole 
earth,  stated  by  Dr.  Keill,  as  contrasted  with  what  the 
consequences  would  have  been  of  a  position  which 
would  have  made  the  seasons  always  the  same.  Af- 
ter this,  we  may  observe  that  the  winter  illustrates  to 
us  the  beneficent  principle  of  distribution  acted  on  by 
the  Divine  Providence.  We  must  have  our  uinter,  in 
order  that  the  inhabitants  of  another  part  of  the  world 
may  have  their  summer.  Not  but  that  even  we,  sep- 
arately considered,  are  the  better  for  this  order ;  but 
set  that  out  of  view,  and  even  suppose  it  were  not  so, 
— the  people  of  the  southern  hemisphere  need  to  have 
their  season  of  light  and  warmth,  to  make  their  allot- 
ted ground  productive,  and  ripen  its  produce.  The 
sun  and  the  fine  season,  leave  us  to  go  to  them.  The 
winter,  therefore,  seems  to  inculcate  upon  us  a  great 
lesson  of  equity  and  charity, — that  we  should  be  will- 
ing to  share  the  benefits  of  the  system  with  the  distant 
portions  of  our  great  wide-spread  family, — willing  to 
part  with  a  pleasing  possession  for  a  season,  for  their 
sakes,  even  if  we  could  retain  it.  The  lesson  might 
be  brought  down  to  matters  within  a  narrower  circle. 
The  winter  should,  by  the  very  circumstance  of  its 
unproductiveness,  remind  us  of  the  care  and  bounty  of 
divine  Providence,  in  that  other  seasons  are  granted 
us  Avhich  furnish  supplies  for  this,  and  for  the  whole 
year.  There  is  to  be  a  season  producing  nothing,  but 
therefore  there  are  seasons  producing  more  than  their 
share.  The  winter  may  admonish  ?a?,  of  these  colder 
climates,  how  entirely  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  Sov- 
ereign Lord  of  nature, — how  wholly  dependent  on  the 
order  which  he  has  established.  This  is  less  obvious 
in  those  regions  where  they  hare  no  winter,  in  our 
sense  of  the  word.  But  here^  look  at  the  earth,  speak- 
ing generall}' !  look  at  the  trees !  an  obdurate  nega- 
tion ; — an  appearance  of  having  ceased  to  be  for  us ; — 
undera  mighty  interdict  of  heaven!  We  mightnearlyas 


WINTER,  ATD  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  41 

well  go  to  the  graves  of  the  dead  to  ask  for  sympathy 
and  aid.  The  ground  seems  not  willing  to  yield  us 
any  thing  but  a  grave  ;  and  that  it  is  yielding  every 
day  to  numbers  to  whom  it  would  have  yielded  noth- 
ing else!  Striking  consideration  !  that  for  this  service 
the  earth  is  always  ready.  How  many  graves  for  the 
dying  it  will  aflbrd  during  these  months,  in  which  it 
will  afford  no  sustenance  to  the  living!  Would  it  not 
be  a  most  solemn  manifestation,  if,  in  the  living  crowd, 
we  could  discern  those  to  whom  the  earth,  the  ground, 
has  but  one  thing  more  to  supply? 

The  winter  has  a  character  of  inclemency  and  rig- 
our,— has  ideas  and  feelings  associated  with  it  of  hard- 
ship, infelicity,  suffering.  In  this,  it  should  be  adapted 
to  excite  thoughtful  and  compassionate  sentiments  re- 
specting the  distress  and  suffering  that  are  in  the 
world;  the  distresses  attendant  in  a  special  manner  on 
the  season  itself;  but,  also,  hardships,  distresses,  op- 
pressive situations,  considered  generally.  Such  con- 
sideration should  naturally  be  promoted  by  the  grave 
character  of  the  season,  in  which  nature  seems  clad  in 
mourning.  The  fair  and  cheerful  aspect  of  the  world 
is  veiled,  as  if,  that  our  thoughts  may  take  another  di- 
rection. 

Winter  discovers,  in  a  somewhat  special  manner, 
the  dispositions  of  mankind  thiis : — men  are  in  that 
season  reduced  more  to  their  own  resources, — are  de- 
prived of  a  delightful  scene  of  varieties,  liberties,  and  en- 
tertaining circumstances  and  occupations  ; — are  much 
more  driven  home,  as  it  were,  to  themselves,  and  their 
own  means; — and  their  dispositions  are  shown  in  what 
they  will  now  choose  to  do ; — we  mean  in  such  part  of 
their  time  as  is  really  at  their  disposal.  How  pleasing 
it  would  be,  to  see  generally  a  recourse  to  such  expe- 
dients ior  spending  that  time,  as  should  tend  to  individ- 
ual and  social  improvement.  It  is  so,  we  trust,  in  many 
instances.  It  is  generally  so  in  some  countries,  at 
least  one,  Iceland.  But  look  at  a  large  portion  of 
our  community,  occupied  in  vain  and  dissipating 
amusements.    Some  in  revels  of  excessive  festivity, 


42 


WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 


— in  convivial  assemblies  for  utter  trifling  and  levity 
— card  parties — theatres.  Winter  thus  sliows  what 
persons  will  choose  by  preference,  when  the  dreary 
state  of  the  natural  world  throws  them  upon  their 
own  means.  But  what  will  the  vain  and  thoughtless 
do,  when  the  world,  with  aJl  its  seasons,  finally  ex- 
cludes them  ? 

"  Say,  dreamers  of  gay  dreams  ! 
How  will  you  weather  an  eternal  night 
Where  such  expedients  fail  V 

As  to  winter, — though  it  is  the  darker  portion  of 
time,  it  may  possibly  not  be  the  darker  portion  of  the 
history  of  mankind.  Some  of  the  most  dreadful  oftheir 
courses  of  crime  have  generally  been  considerably 
suspended  during  that  season.  We  allude  especially 
to  their  horrid  slaughters  under  the  name  of  icar. 
Though  indeed  the  unrelenting  fury  of  late  wars  has 
made  exceptions  to  this. 

Another  thing  observable  of  winter  is, — how  strik- 
ingly it  shows  the  transitory  quality  of  the  beauty, 
variety,  magnificence,  and  riches,  which  had  been 
spread  over  the  natural  world.  Recall  to  your  imag- 
ination what  you  so  lately  beheld  and  admired. — 
Brief  description  of  the  scene  as  in  spring  and  summer. 
— All  vanished  like  a  dream !  gone  into  air,  into  the 
dust,  and  into  dead  masses  !  It  is  amazing  to  think 
what  an  infinity  of  pleasing  objects  have  perished  ;  so 
soon  perished  and  gone  !  Just  as  yesterday  the  fair 
profusion  was  here  ;  now  it  is  no  more  to  us  than  the 
earHest  beauty  of  Eden.  It  is  for  ever  gone  !  never 
to  be  that  beauty  again,  that  is,  identically.  The 
change  is  as  if  some  celestial  countenance  had  for  a 
while  beamed  in  smiles  on  the  earth,  but  were  now 
averted  to  some  other  world  ;  and  then  the  earth  had 
no  power  to  retain  the  glory  and  beauty;  they  dis- 
owned and  left  it ;  and  left  us  on  the  bare  ground  over 
which  the  vision  of  enchantment  had  been  spread. 

May  we  not  here  find  an  instructive  emblem  of  an- 
other order  of  things?  Think  of  the  bloom  and  vig- 
our, and  animated  action  and  expression  of  the  human 


WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES.  43 

person,  destroyed  by  sickness  or  disease  !  Think  of 
delightful  hopes,  shedding  spring  and  summer  on  the 
heart,  suddenly  extinguished  !  Think  of  a  state  of  ex- 
uberant prosperity  changed  by  a  rapid  reverse  to  one 
of  difficulty,  calamity,  or  desolation!  Job!  Examples 
are  occurring  in  all  times.  You  have  seen  men  dis- 
playing themselves  in  splendour  and  pomp,  as  if  they 
thought  themselves  mirrors  to  reflect  the  sun, — put- 
ting all  sorts  of  men,  and  things,  and  arts  in  requisition 
— assembling  around  them  the  wealthy,  the  gay,  the 
fashionable,  and  the  tribe  of  self-interested  fiatierers. 
They  have  had  a  briUiant  and  envied  career  for  a 
while,  but  the  effect  of  public  calamity,  or  of  individual 
disaster  has  suddenly  come  upon  them,  and  they  have 
passed  from  the  glare  and  sunshine  of  a  summer  state 
to  a  dreary  winter  of  condition,  almost  without  an  in- 
terval !  Or  there  has  been  a  more  moderate  and  mod- 
est state ;  ease,  plenty,  and  comfort, — but  this  changed 
to  loss,  ruin,  and  indigence, — a  winter  indeed  !  Or 
there  is  r^^collected  some  instance  of  a  man  who  has 
seen  his  family  grown  up,  or  nearly  so,  and  entering 
on  life  under  the  most  promising  appearances.  But 
several  of  them,  within  a  short  space  of  time,  have 
been  smitten  by  death, — another,  through  ill-judged 
or  unfortunate  connexions,  has  been  plunged  in  misery 
for  life: — and  another  perverted  irreclaimably  to  a 
reprobate  course.  Alas !  it  is  gloomy  and  oppressive 
winter  with  him  !  The  sight  of  the  graves  of  those 
who  are  gone  makes  winter,  though  all  the  bloom  and 
verdure  of  spring  were  smiling  round ; — or  a  visit  to 
his  unfortunate  child  ; — or  the  very  name  of  the  de- 
praved one  !  The  consideration  of  the  transitoriness 
of  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  year,  as  forced  upon  us 
by  the  winter,  easily  carries  our  thoughts  to  these  par- 
allel things  in  the  condition  of  human  life. 

There  is  another  thing  which  the  winter  may  sug- 
gest to  our  thoughts,  that  resemblance  to  it  which 
there  may  be  in  the  state  of  the  mind,  in  respect  to  its 
best  interests.  The  dreary  season  and  scene  may 
thus  impress  a  salutary  admonition.     Indeed,  the  con- 


44 


WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 


trary  season  might  do  it,  ihou2h  it  were  in  the  way  of 
CGntrast.  But  let  not  the  adinomtlon  hy  rcse7nbla?2ce 
be  lost  upon  us.  Is  a  man  afraid  to  turn  from  the 
ffloom  and  cold  without  to  see  what  there  is  within  ? 
Would  he  even  rather  contemplate  and  endure  the 
greater  rigours  of  a  still  more  northern  climate  awhile, 
than  to  take  a  sojourn  in  his  own  soul?  Yes;  there 
are  persons  who  would  rather  be  wherever  our  adven- 
turers in  search  of  the  north-west  passage  may  prob- 
ably now  be,  than  "  make  diligent  search"  into  the 
state  of  their  own  spirits.  Truly  the  winter  in  the 
soul  is  far  worse  than  any  season  and  aspect  of  ex- 
ternal nature.  Suppose  a  contrary  state  to  be  fully 
prevalent  in  the  soul,  how  small  an  evil,  compara- 
tively, then,  would  be  all  that  is  inclement  and  gloomy 
in  the  seasons  and  scenes  of  nature  !  Suppose  com- 
munion with  heaven, — animated  aflection^,  ardent  de- 
votion to  God  and  our  Redeemer, — a  strong  exercise 
of  improving  faith,  a  dwelling  with  delight  among  the 
truths,  promises,  and  aniicipaiive  visions,  which  God 
has  revealed,  like  walking  and  regaling  among  the 
trees  of  paradise, — a  vigorous  prosecution  of  holiness, 
— and  the  joys  of  a  good  conscience  !  Why,  if  such  a 
man  were  placed  in  the  frozen  zone,  and  could  live 
there,  he  would  be  happy  !  He  would  have  a  triumph 
over  the  rigours  of  nature  !  There  would  be  feeble 
and  oblique  rays  of  the  sun,  or  for  a  while,  none  at  all, 
but  direct  beams  from  the  throne  of  heaven  !  Or  place 
him  in  our  region,  and  the  light  of  his  soul,  the  ever- 
burning lamp,  blazing  wiih  element  from  the  em|  yreal 
sky,  would  overpower  the  darkness  of  our  gloomiest 
season ;  the  vernal  spirit  within  would  to  him  transform 
the  desolate  aspect !  But  let  all  this  be  reversed,  and 
what  a  desolation !  With  such  a  state  within,  the 
most  delicious  scene  on  earth  would  be  blasted.  Eden 
itself  was  so  to  our  first  parents  when  they  had  sinned  I 
Oh  !  what  an  intense  winter  men  may  carry  within 
their  own  breasts,  whatever  be  the  season  in  external 
nature  ! 

We  have  spoken  of  resemblance^ — but  observe  ore 
striking  point  of  difference^ — namely,  the  natural  win- 


WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  AXALOGIES,  45 

ier  will  certainly  and  necessarily,  from  a  regular  and 
absolute  cause,  pass  away,  after  a  vvliile  ;  not  so,  the 
spiritual  winter.  It  is  in  the  established  nature  of  the 
thing,  that  the  brighter,  warmer  season  should  return, 
with  all  its  appropriate  phenomena;  we  have  only  to 
wait  and  do  nothing,  and  there  is  nothing  we  can  do. 
It  does  not  belong  to  the  constitution  of  the  human 
nature  that  the  spiritual  warmth  and  animation  must 
come,  must  have  a  season.  Look  at  dull  apprehen- 
sion,— coldaifections, — torpid  conscience, — unactuated 
will — these  may  continue  so,  through  the  ensuing 
spring  and  summer,  forward  to  the  next  winter,  and 
may  resemble  that  winter  more  completely  even  than 
they  resemble  this  ;  analogous  to  material  naiure  in 
this  one  point,  that  the  longer  the  cold  continues,  tlie 
more  intense  it  will  become.  It  v\"ould  be  a  melan- 
choly kind  of  observation  and  comparison  for  a  man  to 
make,  as  the  spring  commences  and  advances,  to  com- 
pare the  brightening  and  lengthening  days  with  his 
spiritual  viev>"s  and  intelligence  ; — the  evident  progress, 
with  his  fixed  and  obdurate  sameness; — the  opening 
blossoms  with  his  religious  emotions,  desires,  aspira- 
tions, resolutions;  the  prevailing  warmth  at  length, 
and  full  character  of  life,  with  the  habitual  temper  of 
his  heart; — or  finally,  to  observe  the  precious  and 
ripened  produce,'  but  the  case  with  himself  ansAvering 
to  those  words^  "the  harvest  is  past,  the  summer  is 
ended,  and  we — / — not  saved  !"  All  this  may  be  ; 
in  numberless  cases  it  icill  be.  Shall  it  be  so  with  us  ? 
But  how  else  should  it  be  with  the  man  that  carelessly 
lets  it  ail  alone?  What  a  glorious  thing  on  the  otiier 
hand,  if  we  should  escape  from  our  winter  of  the  soul 
by  an  equal  progress  with  that  by  which  external  na- 
ture will  certainly  escape ! 

We  might  follow  out  the  analogy  to  a  wider  extent, 
applying  it  to  the  state  of  a  religious  society ; — of  the 
great  community  of  a  nation,  of  the  general  human 
race.  How  glorious,  when  the  probable  import  of  that 
prophecy  shall  be  realized,  ^Hhe  desert  shall  rejoice 
and  blossom  as  the  rose  P  5 


46  WINTER,  AND  ITS  MORAL  ANALOGIES. 

We  note  one  more  point  of  analotry,  the  resemblance 
of  winter  to  old  aire.  The  direct  resemblances  are  too 
obvious  to  need  ilkistraiion.  Those  in  the  earher  sea- 
sons of  hfe,  are  sensible  that  they  look  on  the  aged  as 
in  life's  winter.  But  w^hether  thej-  are  disposed^to  en- 
tertain a  wicked  contempt,  or  a  benevolent  respect,  let 
them  never  forget  that  they  too  are  to  come  to  that 
winter,  unless  prematurely  cut  off.  Those  who  are 
now  aged,  were  so  admonished  in  their  earlier  seasons. 
The  old  age  of  the  wise  and  good  resembles  the  win- 
ter in  one  of  its  most  favourable  circumstances,  that  the 
former  seasons  improved  have  laid  in  a  valuable  store  ; 
and  they  have  to  bless  God  that  disposed  and  enabled 
them  to  do  so.  But  the  most  striking  point  in  the  com- 
parison, after  all,  is  one  of  unlikeness.  Their  winter 
has  no  spring  to  follow  it — in  this  world.  It  is  to  close, 
not  by  an  insensible  progression  into  another  season, 
but  by  a  termination,  absolute,  abrupt,  and  final;  a 
consideration  which  should  shake  and  rouse  the  most 
inveterate  insensibility  of  thoughtless  old  age.  But  the 
servants  of  God  say,  "  That  is  well !"  They  would 
not  make  such  a  gradation  into  a  spring  of  mortal  ex- 
istence, if  it  could  be  put  in  their  choice.  Their  winter, 
they  say,  is  quite  the  right  time  for  a  great  transition. 
It  was  in  nature's  winter,  or  towards  that  season,  that 
their  Lord  came  to  the  earth  ;  it  was  in  the  winter  that 
he  died  for  their  redemption  ;  and  the  winter  of  their 
life  is  the  right  time  tor  them  to  die.  that  the  redemp- 
tion may  be  finished.  And  there  is  eternal  spring 
before  them  !  What  will  they  not  be  contemplating  of 
beauty  and  glory,  while  those  who  have  yet  many 
years  on  earth  are  seeing  returning  springs  and  sum- 
mers ! 

The  gloomy  circumstance  of  winter  on  our  globe, 
points  to  the  desirableness  of  an  abode  where  there 
shall  be  nothing  like  winter;  or  of  a  mode  of  existence 
quite  superior  to  all  elemental  evils.  The  theory  of 
such  a  condition  of  existence  we  cannot  distinctly  form 
in  our  minds;  but  so  much  the  better;  tor  that  would 
imply  such  a  resemblance  to  the  present  economy,  as  ' 


SUPRE3IE  ATTACHMENT,  ETC.  47 

one  should  be  reluctant  to  admit.  So  much  the  better 
that  "eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  the  heart, 
been  able  to  conceive  the  things  that  God  hath  pre- 
pared." 


V. 

SUPREME    ATTACH3IENT   DUE    TO    SPIRITUAL 
OBJECTS. 

"  Set  Tjour  affection  on  things  above,  not  on  things 
on  the  earth.^^ — How  momentous  a  charge  is  it  that 
is  imposed  in  the  injunction  to  dispose  rightly  of  the 
affection  of  a  human  soul!  A  charge  which  we  cannot 
at  our  choice  take  upon  us.  or  dechne,  since  v/e  have 
the  soul,  and  the  charge  is  inseparable. 

Sometimes  we  may  have  looked  at  some  affair  of  a 
merely  worldly  nature,  with  self-gratuiation  that  we 
were  not  obliged  to  undertake  it.  "  It  involves  so 
much  skill — such  continual  attention — such  hazard — 
euch  sad  consequences  in  the  event  of  failure!  happily 
the  business  is  not  mine."  It  were  well  that  in  such 
a  case,  the  thought  should  occur ;  "  But  there  may  be 
a  business  of  mine  !  Where  have  my  affections  been 
to-day?  Where  are  they  at  this  hour  ?  V/here  have 
they  been  all  my  life  ?  Where  will  they  be  if  I  let 
them  alone  ?  " 

Affection  is  the  going  out  of  tlie  soul  in  sentiments 
of  interest,  complacency,  and  desire,  toward  objects 
within  its  view.  Love  to  self,  indeed,  is  always  said  to 
be  the  primary  and  strongest  affection  of  our  nature  ; 
and  truly.  But  then  what  is  the  manner  of  action  ol 
this  self-love  ?  It  is  not  that  the  affection  stays  en 
closed,  acting  in  and  upon  our  very  self  The  affection 
then  is  the  going  out  of  the  soul. 

Now,  how  happy  were  it  if  the  case  were  thus  with 
us;  that  the  affection  of  the  soul  might  go  out  just  at 
its  own  pleasure^  and  oil  be  right  and  safe.     This  is 


48  SUPREME  ATTACHMENT 

supposing  that  a  comprehensive,  discriminating,  and 
indeed  iiiiaUible  perception,  accompanied  necessarily 
all  the  iroings  out  ofaflection  ;  and  also,  that  the  moral 
taste  of  the  soul  always  strictly  agreed  with  its  intel- 
lectual discernment ;  in  short,  that  the  soul  possessed 
a  grand  moral  instinct.  The  consequence  would  be, 
that  all  things  affecting  the  soul,  in  the  way  of  attract- 
ing it,  would  affect  it  right.  Nothing  would  attract  it 
which  ought  not ;  it.  would  be  in  repulsion  to  all  evil ; 
and  those  things  which  did  attract,  and  justly  might, 
would  do  so  in  the  right  degrees  and  })roportion  so 
far,  and  no  further;  with  so  much  force,  and  no  more; 
and  with  an  unlimited  force  that  alone  which  is  the 
supreme  good.  What  a  glorious  condition  this  !  And 
this  must  be  the  state  of  good  men  in  a  future  world, 
else  there  would  be  temptation,  trial,  hazard,  and  the 
possibility  of  falling. 

But  what  a  dreadful  contrast  to  all  this  is  our  pres- 
ent state  !  As  one  great  circumstance,  our  nature, 
composed  of  two  kinds  of  being,  places  us  in  strict  re- 
lation to  two  quite  different  economies.  It  is  true,  the 
combination — the  union  of  the  two — does,  in  many 
respects,  make  them,  to  a  T.vonderful  degree,  feel  and 
act  as  one  ;  but  still  it  is  no  such  union  of  the  two  kinds 
of  being,  as  to  combine  perfectly  into  one  harmonious 
interest  the  relations  to  the  two  economies.  The  man 
is  not  so  one,  his  combined  nature  does  not  so  act  as 
one,  as  to  reduce  the  two  diverse  classes  of  interests 
to  one  blended,  inseparable  order,  so  that  each  move- 
ment of  the  soul,  with  respect  to  either,  should  neces- 
sarily have  due  respect  to  both.  I\'o  !  the  relations 
stand  distinct,  separate,  and  in  a  very  great  degree, 
foreign  to  each  other.  Therefore,  there  is  great  diiti- 
culty  and  hazard  as  to  the  apportioning  of  the  regards 
to  these  classes  respectively  ; — great  difficulty  of  main- 
taining such  a  state  and  exercise  of  the  affections,  as 
should  comprehend,  in  due  order  and  proportion,  both 
these  great  classes. 

Another  obvious  and  most  important  circumstance 
isj  that  by  the  one  part  of  our  nature,  our  relation  to 


DUE  TO  SPIRITUAL  OBJECTS.  49 

the  one  class  of  interests  is  immediate  and  sensible  ; 
while  our  other  grand  relation,  being  to  things  far  less 
palpable — lo  things  spiritual,  invisible,  and  as  it  were 
remote — is  to  be  apprehended  only  through  the  me- 
dium of  serious  thought  and  faith.  This  is  a  circum- 
stance of  formidable  omen,  even  under  the  best  sup- 
posable  conditio'n  of  our  nature  thus  compounded  and 
situated.  Even  in  that  case,  there  would  seem  to  be 
required  a  special  unremitted  divine  influence  to  pre- 
serve it  right.  How  should  there  not  be  a  constant 
mighty  tendency  to  a  v/rong  preponderance  ! 

But  this  is  not  all.  Our  nature  is  immeasurably  far 
from  being  in  that  "best  supposable  state,"  Our 
nature  is  sunk  into  such  a  state,  that  it  has  a  most 
mighty  and  obstinate  tendency  to  give  itself  wholly  to 
the  inferior  temporal  class  of  its  interests.  In  one  act 
of  its  affection,  and  in  the  next,  and  in  a  hundred  suc- 
cessively, its  preference  will  go  the  inferior ;  and  the 
effect  of  this  tendency  uncounteracted,  is  to  throw  the 
supreme  interests,  and  the  soul  itself,  away.  This  is 
a  fearful  predicament  I  One  should  imagine  it  could 
not  be  thouirht  of  without  terror.  One  would  imagine 
that  the  terror  of  it^  if  any  reason  or  right  feeling  were 
left  in  man,  would  make  the  docrine  of  divine,  trans- 
forming, assisting  grace,  to  be  welcomed  with  enthu- 
siasm. Except  in  reliance  on  this,  we  should  hear 
with  utter  despair  the  injunction,  -  Set  your  affection 
on  things  abov^e,  not  on  things  on  the  earth." 

This  remains  the  sovereign  duty,  the  comprehen- 
sive precept,  to  us  sojourners  on  earih.  Let  us  attend 
a  few  moments  to  the  subject  and  application  of  this 
command — 

In  the  first  place ; — an  indiscreet  language  may 
havesom.etimes  been  used  by  pious  men  and  teachers, 
not  maintaining  exactly  a  due  regard  to  the  limita- 
t  ions  on  the  latter  part  of  the  precept;  a  language  to 
the  effect  almost,  of  requiring  an  absolute  entire  in- 
difference or  contempt  to  all  terrestrial  things;  inso- 
much, that  the  considerate  reader  or  hearer  has  been 
saying  v/ithin  himself,  -'Nov/  that  is  strictly  impossi- 
5* 


50  SUPREME  ATTACHMENT 

ble,"  or  "absurd."  According  to  ihis,  there  is  an 
essential,  insupei-able  inconsistency  between  our  duty 
and  the  very  condition  in  which  God  has  placed  us. 
Sometimes  this  language  of  excess  has  been  a  rather 
unthinking  repetition  of  a  kind  of  common-place  ;  but 
often  it  has  had  a  better  origin,  such  as  the  retired^ 
contemplative,  devout  life  of  some  good  men.  The 
language  of  religion  has  had  a  particular  advantage 
in  this  respect,  when  it  has  come  from  enlightened 
and  pious  men,  who  have  had  much  to  do  in  the 
world — for  example.  Matthew  Hale.  Or  it  may  have 
had  its  origin  in  short  occasional  seasons  of  peculiarly 
elevated  feeling ;  or  in  the  state  of  feeling  produced 
in  good  men  by  affliction,  calamity,  and  persecution. 

But  it  is  disserviceable  to  religion  thus  to  preach, 
as  it  were,  an  annihilation  of  our  interests  in  this 
w-orld.  They  have  claims,  and  they  will  make  them 
good  in  defiance,  vdiether  allowed  or  not.  But  these 
claims  must  be  allow^ed.  Think  in  how  many  ways 
we  are  made  susceptible  of  pleasure  and  pain  from 
"  the  things  on  the  earth  ;"  and  to  what  an  amount,  in 
passing  fitly,  sixty,  or  seventy  years  upon  it.  Now 
we  may  surely  believe  that,  fallen  and  guilty  as  we 
are,  our  Creator  does  not  will  the  pleasure  denied,  or 
the  pain  endured,  more  than  is  inevitable  to  our  mor- 
tal condition,  or  disciplinary  toward  our  future  life. 
And  therefore  we  may,  in  regulated  measure,  desire 
the  pleasing,  and  be  anxious  to  avoid  the  painful. 

But  think  how  much  interest,  and  attention,  and 
care,  are  necessary  to  avoid  the  ills  of  this  mortal  life ! 
How  m.uch  concern  and  study  must  be  applied  direct- 
ly to  temporal  things,  in  order  that,  on  the  vrhole,  we 
may  have  the  most  benefit  of  our  relations  to  this  ter- 
restrial scene.  Theparticulars  that  might  be  specified 
will  occur  to  every  one.  Health  is  deservedly  an 
object  of  great  interest  and  care.  '•  Affection  "  is  in- 
evitably and  justly  "5e^"onit — and  a  person's  near 
relatives  in  life — and  then,  as  a  matter  concerning 
both  himself  and  them,  his  temporal  condition,  in  the 
plainest  sense  of  that  epithet;  no  small  interest,  that 


DUE  TO  SPIRITUAL  OBJECTS.  51 

is  to  say,  '■^affection''''  is  necessarily  "sei"  on  compe- 
tence, especially  in  times  when  this  is  very  difficult  and 
precarious.  As  we  have  referred  to  the  "  times,  "  we 
may  add,  that  a  man  that  looks  on  the  conduct  of 
public  atTairs,  by  which  his  own  and  his  family's  and 
his  fellow  citizens'  welfare  are  deeply  affected,  will 
necessarily  feel  very  considerable  interest  in  that 
direction.  He  must  "se^"  some  '•affection''''  on  what 
he  is  convinced  would  be  the  best,  or  at  least  a  better 
state  of  things.  Again,  if  he  is  a  man  of  cultivated 
intellect  and  taste,  then  he  cannot  avoid  being  inter- 
ested in  the  beauties  and  wonders  of  nature,  tJie  great 
works  of  human  intellect  and  genius,  or  the  discover- 
ies of  science.  Now  in  such  points  it  is  seen  how 
intimate  is  our  relation  to  this  world.  And  in  some 
proportion  to  the  intimacy  and  the  number  of  our 
relations  to  this  world,  will  it  inevitably  be  that  '■'■  affec- 
tion'" must  be  "  set  on  things  on  the  earth. " 

But,  how  striking  and  how  sad  it  is  here  to  consider 
that  the  relations  to  this  present  world  are  the  only 
ones  practically  recognised  by  the  far  greater  num- 
ber of  mankind  !*  Think,  if  any  religious  instructor 
were  to  exhort  them  to  such  an  utter  disregard  of 
their  temporal  interests,  as  they  actually  indulge 
respecting  their  eternal  ones, — what  madness  would 
be  charged !  A  fortiori^  then,  is  not  theirs  an  awful 
madness  ? 

Let  us  turn  to  the  other  view  of  the  subject ;  the 
higher  class  of  our  relations.  By  the  nobler  part  of 
our  nature  we  are  placed  in  the  most  solemn  relations 
to  another  economy.  Not  to  have  a  deep  sense  of 
this  fact,  implies  that  something  is  enormously  wrong. 
This  immortal  spirit  was  appointed  but  for  a  few 
years  to  this  earth ;  but  eternally  to  another  state. 
And  it  is  placed  in  relations  comporting  with  its  eter- 
nity of  existence ; — to  God,  the  one  infinite  Being — 
the  one  sole,  perfect,  and  independent  Essence  3 — to 
the  Redeemer,  the  Lord,  and  the  life  of  the  new  econ- 
omy;— to  an  unseen  state; — to  an  order  of  exalted, 
holy,  and  happy  beings  in   that  state  ;  to  a  pure,  ex- 


52  SUPREME  ATTACHMENT 

alted,  and  endloss  felicity  in  that  state.  And  do  I 
give,  in  conformity  to  one  law  of  my  nature,  a  great 
measure  of  my  affection  to  the  things  to  which  I  have 
a  subordinate  temporary  relation,  and  refuse  affection 
towards  those  to  which  I  have  an  eternal  relation? 
How  marvellous  and  how  lamentable,  that  the  soul 
can  consent  to  stay  in  the  dust,  when  invited  above 
the  stars  ;  having  in  its  own  experience  the  demon- 
stration tliat  this  is  not  its  world  ;  knowing  that  even 
if  it  were,  the  possession  will  soon  cease  ;  and  having 
a  glorious  revelation  and  a  continual  loud  call  from 
above ! 

But  it  is  on  the  duty  as  considered  not  absolutely, 
but  comparatively,  of  setting  the  affection  "  above, " 
that  we  would  insist.  What  should  be  the  compara- 
tive state  of  the  affections,  as  towards  tlie  one  and 
the  other  ?  And  what  can  the  answer  be  but,  plainly 
and  briefly,  that  there  must  be  at  the  lowest  account  a 
decided  preponderance  in  favour  of  spiritual  and  eter- 
nal things?  At  the  lowest  state  of  the  case,  we 
repeat,  for  alas  !  this  is  but  little  to  say  for  the  feeling 
towards  things  so  contrasted,  so  immensely  different 
in  value  !  This  is  the  lowest  ground  on  which  a  man 
can  justly  deem  himself  a  Christian.  For  how  is  the 
great  object  of  Christ  at  all  accomplished  in  a  man 
whose  preference  is  not  gained  to  those  things  to 
which  Christ  came  to  redeem  men?  And  consider  ! 
if  no  more  thnn  barely  this  is  attained,  how  often  this 
itself  is  likely  to  be  put  in  doubt.  On  all  accounts, 
therefore,  how  clearly  it  is  a  duty  and  an  interest  to 
aspire  to  every  attainable  degree  beyond  a  mere  posi- 
tive preponderance.  We  may  even  assert  that  this 
aspiration  is  an  indispensable  sign  or  symptom. 

This  may  lead  to  the  question, — What  may  be 
safely  taken  as  indications,  or  proofs,  that  there  is 
the  required  preponderance  ?  Now  in  most  cases  of 
comparison  and  preference,  a  man  has  no  need  to 
seek  or  think  about  the  evidence  of  his  preference ; 
it  is  a  matter  of  prompt  and  unequivocal  conscious- 
ness.    And  if  in  any  case  in  the  universe,  it  should  be 


DUE  TO  SPIRITUAL  OBJECTS.  53 

SO  here !  How  happy  to  have  it  thus  !  But,  even 
with  good  men,  the  case  is  not  always  such,  far  from 
it !  as  to  make  a  reference  to  tests  and  proofs  unne- 
cessary or  useless.  There  is  to  be  nothing  mysteri- 
ous in  the  matter  and  operation  of  these  tests ; — 
nothing  hke  the  Urim  and  Thummim  ; — nothing  like 
the  ordeals; — it  is  an  affair  of  plain,  serious,  faithful 
thought. 

For  example,  let  a  man  take  the  occasion  to  exam- 
ine, wdien  he  is  very  strongly  interested  by  some  one 
temporal  object  or  concern,  whether  he  can  say,  more 
than  all  this  is  the  interest  I  feel  in  "  the  things  that 
are  above."  When  he  is  greatly  pleased  with  some 
temporal  possession,  or  success,  or  prospect,  and  his 
thoughts  suddenly  turn  to  the  higher  objects,  is  he  then 
decidedly  more  pleased?  or  does  he  feel  a  deep  and 
earnest  solicitude  that  this  temporal  good  may  not  in- 
jure him  in  his  higher  interests?  If  he  suffers  or 
apprehends  something  very  grievous  as  to  his  tempo- 
ral interests,  does  he  deliberately  feel  that  he  would 
far  rather  suffer  so  than  in  his  spiritual  interests  ?  Or 
again,  in  such  a  case,  does  he  feel  a  strong  overbal- 
ancing consolation  from  "  things  above  ?"  Is  he  more 
pleased  to  give  the  earnest  application  of  his  mind  to 
the  higher  objects  and  interests  than  to  any  inferior 
ones  ?  Asa  man  digging  in  the  confidence  he  should 
find  gold,  would  labour  with  more  soul  and  spirit  than 
one  raising  stones  or  planting  trees.  Does  he  feel 
that,  on  the  whole,  he  would  do  more,  or  sacrifice 
more,  for  the  one  than  for  the  other?  While  greatly 
interested  in  a  temporal  pursuit,  does  he  habitually 
charge  it  upon  his  soul,  and  actually  endeavour,  that 
he  do  with  still  greater  intenseness  prosecute  a  higher 
object  ?  If  he  perceives  that  his  pursuit  of  a  temporal 
object  is  beginning  to  outrun  his  pursuit  of  the  nobler, 
does  he  solemnly  intermit  in  order  that  this  may  not 
be  the  case  ?  "How  vigorously  I  am  pursuing  this 
— but  what  is  that  which  I  am  leaving  behind  ?^  If  I 
leave  that  behind,  it  will  stay  1  It  will  run  no  race 
with  a  worldly  spirit.     Let  me  instantly  draw  in.  I" 


54  SUPREME  ATTACHMENT,  ETC. 

Is  he  constantly,  or  very  often,  impelled  to  the  olivine 
throne  to  implore  grace  and  strength  that  there  may 
be  a  decided  preponderance  ?  the  witness  for  him 
"above"  that  there  is  that  proof  at  least  ofhis  affec- 
tions there?  If  by  the  advance  of  life,  he  is  sensible 
that  he  is  fast  going  out  of  the  "  things  on  the  earth," 
does  he  rise  above  all  regret  at  this,  in  the  view  of  the 
sublimer  objects?  "Do  you  compassionate  me  be- 
cause I  am  growing  old — because  I  cannot  stay  long 
here?  You  mistake  !  Yonder  is  the  scene  to  which 
I  am  animated  in  approaching."  We  will  only  add, 
— in  his  occupation  and  transactions  with  the  '•  things 
on  the  earth,"  has  he  acquired  the  habit  of  imparting 
even  to  those  concerns  a  principle  and  a  reference  still 
bearing  toward  the  higher  objects? — Such  questions 
as  these  would  be  the  points  for  placing  and  keeping 
the  subject  in  a  state  of  trial  and  proof;  would  be  an 
admonition,  too,  of  the  necessity  of  applying  all  the 
force  in  the  higher  direction. 

Now,  how  happy  to  be  in  such  a  state  of  decided 
preference  in  the  devotement  of  the  affections ! 
Happy  !  considermg  that  to  those  higher  things  we 
are  in  a  constant,  permanent  relation  ;  whereas  our  re- 
lation to  the  terrestrial  is  varying  and  transient. 
Reflect,  how  many  things  on  the  earth  we  have  been 
in  relation  to,  but  are  no  longer,  and  shall  be  no  more. 
Happy!  because  a  right  state  of  the  affections  toward 
the  superior  objects,  is  the  sole  security  for  our  having 
the  greatest  benefit  of  those  on  earth.  For  that  which 
is  the  best  in  the  inferior,  is  exactly  that  which  may 
contribute  to  the  higher ;  and  that  will  never  be  found 
but  by  him  who  is  intent  on  the  higher.  Happy ! 
because  every  step  of  the  progress  which  we  must 
make  in  leaving  the  one,  is  an  advance  toward  a  bles- 
sed and  eternal  conjunction  with  the  other.  Then, 
that  circumstance  of  transcendent  happiness,  that  in 
the  superior  state  of  good  men  there  will  be  no  con- 
trary attractions,  no  diverse  and  opposed  relations  to 
put  their  choice  and  their  souls  in  difficulty  or  peril ! 


55 


VI. 

SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM  PRODUCED  BY  KNOW- 
LEDGE OF  THE  TRUTH. 

"  The  truth  shall  make  you  free?^ — You  recollect 
the  reception  given  to  this  declaration  of  our  Lord,  and 
the  reply,  "  We  were  never  in  bondage  to  any  man." 
The  Jews  did  not  take  his  words  in  the  sense  he  meant; 
• — but  let  the  sentence  be  taken  in  their  own  sense,  and 
a  more  absurd  reaction  of  pride  is  not  easy  to  be  im- 
agined— "  Were  never  in  bondage  to  any  man  !" 
What!  had  they  not  the  Roman  governor,  with  a  di- 
vision of  the  imperial  guards  in  their  metropolis? 
They  retained,  indeed,  a  little  of  the  show  of  a  mon- 
archy,— a  king  by  sufferance,  over  a  people  tributary 
to  a  foreign  power;  but  of  so  little  account  was  this 
government  of  their  own,  that  in  the  arraignment  of 
our  Lord,  his  claim  to  be  "  King  of  the  Jews,"  was 
alleged,  not  as  in  contravention  to  the  rights  of  Herod, 
but  of  Csesar. 

But  our  Lord  was  speaking  of  a  far  different  kind  of 
bondage  and  emancipation;  a  matter  affecting  all 
mankind,  after  all  the  Ca?sars  are  dead,  and  the  Ro- 
man empire  is  fallen.  And  in  this  far  more  important 
view  of  men's  condition,  it  is  striking  to  observe  how 
much  pride  of  freedom  there  may  be  amidst  the  pro- 
loundest  slavery.  This  is  exemplified  in  multitudes 
of  the  citizens  of  any  state  politically  free;  they  shall 
be  seen  exhibiting  a  proud  consciousness  of  this  priv- 
ilege, each  one  is  lord  of  himself,  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt and  scorn  of  the  people  of  those  nations  where 
all  are  subject  to  the  will  of  one  or  a  few.  Now  very 
far  be  it  ti-om  us  to  undervalue  political  liberty — a 
right  of  human  nature,  a  thing  without  which  no  peo- 
ple can  ever  rise  high  in  wisdom,  virtue,  and  happiness. 
But  at  the  same  time,  contemplate  in  another  light,  any 
such  free  nation  existing,  or  that  ever  did  exist, — how 
many  of  the  people  elated  with  this  proud  distinction, 


56  SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM  PRODUCED 

Stand  exposed  to  your  view  as  slaves,  in  a  sense  they 
little  think  of!  Many  in  subjection  to  their  appetites; 
many  to  the  most  foolish,  many  to  the  most  vicious 
passions.  Now  to  them,  what  an  inconsiderable  good 
is  their  political  liberty,  as  compared  with  the  evil  of 
this  slavery !  and  yet,  amidst  it  all,  there  is  the  self- 
complacency,  the  pride,  the  boasting  of  freedom  ! 

Take  anotherexemplification.  A  high-spirited  man 
in  very  independent  circumstances,  with  confidence 
and  self-sufficiency  conspicuous  on  his  front;  in  num- 
berless cases  he  can  and  will  do  as  he  pleases ;  he  has 
the  means  of  commanding  del'erence  and  obsequious- 
ness, defies  and  spurns  interference  and  opposition; 
and  says  •'  I  am  free  !"  For  all  this,  perhaps,  he  is  but 
the  stronger  slave.  All  the  while,  his  whole  mind  and 
moral  being  may  be  utterly  servile  to  some  evil  pas- 
sion, some  corrupt  purpose,  some  vain  interest,  some 
tyrannic  habit. 

We  might  specify  one  more  exemplification,  the 
pride  of  free-thinking,  carried  to  the  extent  of  reject- 
ing revealed  religion.  Here,  indeed,  the  man  will  per- 
haps say  that  he  verifies  the  text ;  the  truth  has  made 
him  free ;  he  has  quite  impartially  and  in  the  soundest 
exercise  of  reason,  satisfied  himself  that  there  is  no 
divine  revelation,  and  that  there  wanted  none ;  that 
that  which  claims  to  be  acknowledged  such,  and  the 
whole  history  concerning  it,  are  a  most  wicked  impo- 
sition on  mankind;  that  the  recorded  miracles  are  a 
fabrication  of  lies  ;  that  the  little  good  there  is  mixed 
upin  the  imposture,  was  well-known  or  attainable  with- 
out it;  that  the  judgment  to  come,  and  heaven  and 
hell,  are  idle  fictions ;  that  immortality,  and  indeed  a 
future  state  at  all,  are  matters  of  such  mere  conjecture 
and  so  like  poetical  fancies,  as  not  to  be  worth  serious- 
ly taking  into  calculation  in  the  scheme  of  this  short 
life  ;  and  a  hundred  other  things  his  reason  has  achiev- 
ed. And  upon  this,  he  has  a  proud  sense  of  freedom 
from  vulgar  delusion !  Now  a  Christian  judges  all 
this  to  be  a  most  signal  prostration  and  slavery  of  the 
man's  reason.    Allow  him  to  say,  "  I  am  free  j"  yet  we 


BY  KNOWLEDGE  OP  THE  TRUTH.  57 

might  turn  upon  him  and  say,  "  Nay,  but  are  you  real- 
ly free,  in  your  own  sense  ?  have  you  never  any  dread 
of  being  left  alone  to  your  own  reflections  ?  Jiave  you 
never  any  dark  and  terrifying  intimations  speaking  to 
your  soul  ?  if  you  happened  to  be  reminded  of  the 
solemn  dying  expressions  of  a  parent  or  friend  are  you 
'  free  V  If  you  hear  of  or  witness  the  last  scene  of 
one  of  the  same  class  oi" freemen  dying  with  inexpres- 
sible horror,  are  you  'free?'  If  any  illness  should 
attack  yourself,  and  suggest  the  alarming  idea  of 
death,  are  you  '  free  V  No ;  you  are  in  reality  not 
'  made  free ;'  even  in  your  own  sense.  But  even  sup- 
posing that  you  were,  it  would  in  another  sense  be  but 
slavery.  You  would  be  surrendered,  as  if  bound  hand 
and  foot,  to  all  that  is  most  pernicious  to  man.  You 
would  be  just  so  much  the  more  at  the  command  of 
every  temptation  to  sin  ;  just  so  much  the  more  com- 
pletely a  slave  to  any  favorite  vice  ;  perpaps  most  de- 
structive of  present  welfare.  You  w^ould  be  just  so 
much  more  at  the  mercy  and  the  sport  of  the  frivolous 
and  profligate.  This  is  your  proud  freedom  !"  Thus 
the  most  wretched  of  slaves  are  beguiled  by  the  self- 
assurance  of  being  free ! 

A  grand  primary  thing  that  truth  has  to  do  in  this 
world  is,  to  expose  to  men  their  real  situations  as  en- 
slaved. If  both  for  this  preliminary  work,  and  for  the 
whole  great  process  of  breaking  up  the  bondage  of 
the  human  spirit,  truth,  or  "  the  truth,"  be  the  proper 
agent  or  instrument,  what  an  immense  work  there  is 
for  it  to  do  !  For  are  we  not  surrounded  by  a  world 
of  slaves  ?  applying  the  term  in  the  intellectual,  moral, 
and  religious  sense.  If  we  asked  it  in. the  political 
sense,  the  question  w^ould  be  its  own  obvious  answer; 
but  we  are  using  it  in  the  sense  in  which  it  expresses 
a  much  greater  calamity. 

The  mass  of  mankind  are  enslaved.  The  cool, 
sagacious,  philosophic  observer  thinks  so. — ^The  devout 
Christian  observer  thinks  so. — The  illuminated  dying 
estimator  thinks  so.  And  all  the  real  friends  of  our 
race  would  unite  to  implore  that  the  truth  might  come 
6 


68  SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM  PRODUCED 

to  perform  its  mighty  work  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  the 
glorious  Agent  ol'human  deliverance,  the  Son  of  God 
would  come  and  accomplish  that  work  by  means  of 
"  ihe  truth." 

But  why  is  truth  so  peculiarly  the  thing  to  work 
the  deliverance  from  that  tyranny  by  which  the  spirits 
of  men  are  held  enslaved?  Evidently  because  a  very 
material  part  of  the  strength  of  that  which  enslaves 
them,  consists  in  ignorance  and  error,  to  which  truth 
is  the  opposite.  If  we  would  form  a  notion  quite  com- 
prehensive of  what  may  be  regarded  as  placing  and 
keeping  men's  minds  in  an  enslaved  state,  we  should 
include  ignorance  and  all  error  through  w^hich  they 
receive  injury,  together  with  all  perversion  in  the  pas- 
sions, and  all  that  perverts  them.  Now  against  all 
this  in  its  full  breadth,  truth,  universal  truth,  is  op- 
posed ;  and  the  etfectual  application  of  truth  would 
counteract  and  reverse  it  ah. 

Our  Lord  was  speaking  of  what  divine  truth  would 
do ;  and  especially  the  evangelic  part  of  it.  It  would 
make  them  free  in  those  points  wherein  their  bondage 
is  their  greatest  calamity. 

Previously  to  adverting  to  a  few  of  those  most  im- 
portant points,  we  observe,  that  there  are  some  things 
wherein  the  truth  merely,  the  truth  simply  admitted  in 
the  understanding,  goes  far  towards  effecting  the 
emancipation ;  things  where  the  chief  strength  of  the 
enslavement  is  in  a  delusion  on  the  judgment.  Some 
such  things  have  happily  left  us,  as  a  nation,  in  a 
great  measure  free.  It  would  not  be  impertinent  to 
specify  here,  for  it  was  an  evil  bearing  mischievously 
on  religion,  that  faith  in  judicial  astrology^  which 
bound  and  oppressed  the  minds  of  many  of  our  ances- 
tors. It  interfered  fatally  with  the  right  notions  and 
feelings  respecting  the  government  of  divine  provi- 
dence, yet  held  a  strong  and  gloomy  dominion  in  mul- 
titudes of  minds,  in  ages  not  far  remote  ;  and  not  the 
vulgar  only,  but  some  of  the  thinking  and  learned,  and 
even  some  that  professed  to  revere  the  true  religion. 
Now    this    gloomy  tyranny   had    nearly  its    whole 


BY  KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  TRUTH.  59 

strength  in  the  belief  of  its  slaves,  and  therefore  could 
not  survive  the  belief,  that  the  heavenly  bodies  had  a 
power  of  good  and  evil  over  human  atfairs ;  and  there- 
fore, under  the  operation  of  increasing  general  know- 
ledgre,  and  of  direct  science,  it  has  been  annihilated. 

We  may  add  another  example  in  idolatry,  in  its 
grosser  forms.  Let  men  simply  admit  into  their  un- 
derstandings the  truth  that  the  objects  in  surrounding 
nature,  or  the  figures  themselves  have  made  of  metal, 
stone,  wood,  or  clay,  are  no  gods,  and  there  is  an  end 
of  the  idolatry  !  It  may  at  the  same  time  be  the  fact, 
that  even  this  simple  intellectual  conviction  has  sel- 
dom been  effected  but  through  the  intervention  of  the 
true  religion.  In  the  case  again  of  the  popish  super- 
stitions, let  the  mere  truth  become  apparent  to  men's 
understanding,  let  them  become  convinced  in  opinion 
that  such  an(l  such  practices  are  erroneous,  and  they 
will  so  far  be  "  made  free." 

It  is  very  true  with  respect  to  such  things  as  have 
been  here  specified,  that  it  was  a  matter  of  very  great 
and  tedious  difficulty  to  obtain  the  admission  of  the 
truth  into  men's  understandings.  So  implicated  and 
combined  had  the  delusions  become  with  their  pas- 
sions, habits,  interests,  and  institutions.  But  still,  as 
soon  as  the  truth  really  was  admitted,  the  thing  was 
done.  It  is  true  enough  that  these  forms  of  tyranny 
under  which  men's  minds  have  been  enslaved,  came 
to  attain  their  dominion  over  the  understanding 
through  an  operation  on  the  passions,  interests,  or 
fancy,  while  the  reason  was  dark,  feeble,  and  submis- 
sive. But  they  could  never  have  established  their  do- 
minion without  beguiling  the  judgment,  without  pos- 
sessing themselves  of  the  reason  of  man,  such  as  it 
was.  and  after  it  was  unbeguiled,  these  things  had 
not  in  them  that  which  could  still  and,  by  another 
power,  hold  the  mind  a  slave. 

But  though  men's  minds  should,  through  the  power 
of  truth,  enjoy  a  full  freedom  from  all  such  modes  of 
slavery  as  these,  there  are  other  ways  in  which  it  may 
be  most  deplorably  held  in  chains.     What  is  it  but  a 


60  SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM  PRODUCED 

sad  captivity,  if  there  be  something  that  fixes  the  soul 
ill  aheiiatioii  from  God  ?  And  even  thus  it  is,  by  the 
corrupt  state  of  our  nature.  The  Bible  says  so,  a 
hundred  times  over ;  but  if  it  did  not,  there  is  the  evi- 
dent matter  of  fact.  The  mind  naturally  does  not 
love  God.  It  does  not  love  to  think  of  him  ;  it  turns 
away  from  the  unwelcome  subject ;  it  does  not  love  to 
perceive  and  acknowledge  his  presence  in  all  places 
and  times.  It  does  not  seek  communication  with  him. 
Ii  does  not  find  nor  seek  its  happiness  in  pleasing  him. 
It  revolts  from  his  will  and  commands.  It  has  not  the 
least  wish  to  go  to  a  world,  where  it  might  have  a 
fuller  manifestation  of  him,  and  be  more  intimately  in 
communion  with  him.  But  all  this  would  be  the  glo- 
rious going  out.  if  we  may  so  express  it,  of  the  soul 
toward  its  supreme  good  ;  toward  its  perfection  ;  its 
noblest  exercise,  its  divinest  felicity,  the  verification  of 
its  hberty !  But  then  there  is  something  that  malig- 
nantly holds  it  back,  and  presses  and  degrades  it 
down.  What  a  dreadful  bondage  is  that !  How  inex- 
pressibly desirable  is  something  to  '•  make  it  free !" 
It  is  "  the  truth"  that  must  "  make  it  free." 

But  here  the  case  is  not  as  in  those  forms  of  mental 
bondage  we  specified  before.  The  truth  merely  ad- 
mitted in  the  understanding,  however  distinctly  and 
decidedly,  will  not  suffice.  Without  it,  certainly, 
nothing  can  be  done,  but  alone  it  will  leave  the  great 
work  uneffected.  The  truth  appropriate  to  the  pur- 
pose must  be  that  God  is  transcendent^y  worthy  of  all 
love  and  devotion — the  infinite  perfection  of  all  excel- 
lencies united — and  that  it  is  the  happiness,  as  well  as 
duty  of  his  rational  creatures,  to  be  devoted  to  him  in 
adoration,  affection,  and  willing  obedience.  Well ! 
these  truths  may  be  presented  to  the  understanding 
with  luminous  evidence  ;  it  may  see  that  the  evidence 
is  decisive,  and  that  is  to  admit  conviction.  But  still, 
the  moral  part  of  the  soul,  the  affections,  the  will,  may 
not  come  into  the  assent;  the  moral  part  is  held  still 
under  a  malignant  and  adverse  dominion ;  the  soul 
therefore  is  not  '-'made  free."     Here  is  the  grand  and 


BY  KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  TRUTH.  Gl 

urgent  occasion  for  the  Spirit  of  God  to  work, — to 
transfuse  a  new  and  redeeming  principle  through  the 
moral  being,  and  then  the  man  is  free  !  The  freed 
spirit  feels  that  a  hateful,  direful  enchantment  is  bro- 
ken, and  flies  to  its  God. 

The  love  of  sin  is  a  miserable  and  dreadful  enslave- 
ment. Suppose  a  man  bound  by  some  strong  coer- 
cion in  a  servile  connection  with  a  malignant  but  spe- 
cious lord  who  sets  him  to  one  occupation  and  ano- 
ther, with  a  mockery  of  making  it  delightful  at  first, 
but  still  turning  it  into  painful  drudgery :  showing 
him  dainties,  letting  him  taste  and  then  snatching 
them  away,  or  mingling  something  bitter  and  nau- 
seous ;  smiling  and  acting  the  villain  ;  overruling  and 
frustrating  him  in  any  design  or  attempt  at  escape ; 
subjecting  him  to  still  greater  grievances  the  longer 
he  remains ;  and  at  length  reducing  him  to  utter 
degradation  and  contempt !  This  is  but  a  faint  simile 
for  the  slavery  of  sin.  It  is  a  wretched  bondage.  It 
lets  not  the  man  have  any  command  of  himself  It 
pleases  him,  but  as  by  way  of  holding  him  fast  to 
plague  him.  And  after  it  pleases  him  less,  through 
loss  of  novelty  and  a  less  lively  relish,  it  seems  to  re- 
tain a  still  firmer  hold  of  him.  How  much  of  "  the 
truth"  is  forced  on  him  by  his  own  wretched  experi- 
ence, in  vain!  Still  "the  truth"  is  the  grand  mean 
for  his  rescue.  But  not  the  mere  dry  admission  of  it 
in  his  understanding ;  for  that  may  be,  and  his  chains 
be  on  him  still.  He  may,  in  this  sense,  "  hold  the 
truth  in  unrighteousness."  There  must  be  the  agency 
of  the  Spirit  of  God,  making  an  irresistible  application 
of  the  truth,  making  it  go  through  all  his  moral  being  ; 
creating  an  aversion  to  the  very  nature  of  sin,  as  well 
as  a  horror  of  its  consequences  ;  and  then  what  a  glo- 
rious emancipation !  To  behold  the  legion  of  the 
former  tyrants  prostrate,  and  the  chief  monster,  the 
great  besetting  sin,  as  if  struck  with  heaven's  light- 
ning! 

We  might  name  the  predominant  love  of  this  world. 
It  were  endless  to  dilate  on  this,  regarded  in  the  light 
6* 


62  SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM,  ETC. 

of  a  sad  slavery  ;  and  why  so,  but  tliat  the  proofs  and 
modes  are  endless  ?  But  take  the  plain  comprelien- 
sive  idea,  an  immortal  spirit  so  set  upon  that  which 
can  be  nothing  to  it  longer  than  the  lapse  of  a  [ew 
fleeting  years,  as  to  disregard  and  lose  the  happiness 
of  eternity!  In  this  there  is  so  much  truth  habitually 
trifled  with,  that  the  liberation  is  a  most  mighty  work 
for  the  truth  to  accomplish.  It  is  for  the  Divine  Spirit 
to  present  and  keep  the  two  objects  manifest  before 
the  mind  in  their  stupendous  contrast,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  impart  a  new  principle  of  preference  ;  without 
this  latter,  the  mind  would  only  be  overpowered  by 
that  contrast;  its  real  taste  might  remain  the  same. 

One  other  form  of  bondage  for  the  truth  to  deliver 
from,  is  often  spoken  of  in  the  New  Testament,  namely, 
that  which  some  thoughtful,  conscientious,  anxious 
minds  suffer,  in  not  having  come  clearly  off'  fi-om  the 
ground  of  the  divine  law  as  that  of  their  acceptance 
with  God.  They  attribute  great  iniportance  and 
value,  and  some  undefined  degree  of  efficacy,  to  both 
the  sacrifice  and  the  righteousness  of  Christ.  But 
still  as  God's  government  and  judgment  are  consti- 
tuted upon  his  perfect  and  eternal  law,  that  continu- 
ally comes  in  upon  them,  and  presents  its  menaces 
and  its  terrors — and  well  might  they  be  terrified,  even 
to  utter  despair,  if  this  were  the  ground  of  their  ac- 
ceptance with  God.  But  here  comes  in  the  evangelic 
truth  which  declares  us  totally  removed  off"  this  ground 
for  justification  and  salvation,  because  on  it  salvation  is 
plainly  and  absolutely  impossible.  "  The  truth  "  de- 
clares a  new  and  extraordinary  economy,  in  which  it 
is  appointed  that  the  Mediator's  merit  is  all-sufficient 
and  alone.  And  this  is  to  be  laid  hold  of,  and  relied 
upon  by  faith ;  thus  a  glorious  freedom  will  be  effected. 

There  is  the  bondage  of  the  fear  of  death.  This 
bondage  needs  no  illustration.  Look  at  the  general 
feelings  of  mankind ;  let  each  reflect  on  his  own ! 
But  imagine  these  feelings  substantially  reversed.  Is 
not  that  a  sublime  freedom?  The  Christian  truth 
and  He  that  brought  it  from  heaven,  came  to  confer 


CHRIST,  THOUGH  IiNVISIBLE,  ETC.  63 

this  freedom.  Combine  in  thought  all  these  kinds  of 
freedom,  and  think  whether  Ave  shall  be  content  to 
liv^e  in  miserable  captivity  !  Think  whether  it  be  pos- 
sible for  our  being  to  be  thrown  more  completely 
away,  than  by  a  stupid  indifference  or  a  protracted 
delay  in  regard  to  the  attainment  of  so  divine  a  deliv- 
erance ! 


VII. 

CHRIST,  THOUGH   INVISIBLE,  THE    OBJECT    OF 
DEVOUT  AFFECTION. 

^^  Wko ill  having- not  seen  7/ e  love;  in  whom,  though 
now  ye  see  him  not.,  yet  believing,  ye  rejoice,  with  joy 
unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.'''' — It  is  familiar  to  all 
experience  and  observation  how  much  the  action  of 
our  spiritual  nature  is  dependent  on  the  senses ;  es- 
pecially how  much  the  power  of  objects  to  interest  the 
affections,  depends  on  their  being  objects  of  sight.  The 
affections  often  seem  reluctant  to  admit  objects  to  their 
internal  communion,  except  through  the  avenues  of 
the  senses.  The  objects  must  be,  as  it  were,  authenti- 
cated by  the  senses,  must  first  occupy  and  please  them, 
— or  they  are  regarded  by  the  inner  f  iculties  as  some- 
thing strange,  foreign,  out  of  our  sympathies, —  or  un- 
real. 

Sometimes  a  philosophic  spirit,  proudly  aspiring  to 
a  refined  power  of  abstraction  and  speculation,  is  in- 
dignant that  it  should  be  so  dependent  for  its  objects 
of  interest,  and  its  emotions,  on  the  senses.  It  ear- 
nestly essays  to  create,  as  it  were,  within  itself,  an  order 
of  realities  of  its  own.  A  Christian  mind  also,  from  a 
far  better  principle,  is  often  grieved  and  indignant  that 
the  objects  of  the  senses  so  much  more  readily  obtain 
favour  and  power  within  it,  than  the  objects  of  its  in- 


64  CHRIST,  THOUGH  INVISIBLE, 

tellcctual  apprehension  ; — that  it  is  so  much  more  easy 
to  walk  by  sight  than  by  ftxith.  It  is  a  worthy  and  no- 
ble strife  of  a  Christian  spirit  to  attain  a  more  vital  and 
affecting  communion  with  things  invisible. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  of  necessity  that  we  must 
yield  in  a  measure  to  the  effect  of  the  constitution  of 
our  nature.  By  that  constitution,  the  objects  of  sense, 
— the  things  especially  that  are  seen,  have  some  evi- 
dent and  important  advantages  for  engaging  our  affec- 
tions, over  the  other  class  of  objects.  Let  us  specify  a 
few.  The  objects  which  we  can  see,  give  a  more  posi- 
tive and  direct  impression  of  reality;  there  can  be  no 
dubious  surmise  whether  they  exist  or  not.  The 
sense  of  their  presence  is  more  absolute.  When  an 
object  is  seen  before  me,  or  beside  me,  I  am  instantly 
in  all  the  relations  of  being  present;  I  cannot  feel  and 
act  as  if  no  sucli  object  were  there;  I  cannot  by  an 
act  of  my  mind  put  it  away  from  me.  Objects  seen, — 
may  have  very  striking  qualities  simply  as  objects  of 
sight ;  they  may  have  visible  splendour,  or  beauty, 
which  strike  and  please  independently  of  any  thinking. 
Here  therelbre  is  a  class  of  qualities  of  great  power  to 
interest  us,  vv'hich  the  objects  of  mere  belief,  of  faith, 
have  nothing  to  set  against. 

The  good  or  evil,  pleasure  or  grievance,  which  the 
visible  objects  cause  to  us,  are  often  immediate ;  they 
are  now  ;  without  any  anticipation  I  am  pleased,  bene- 
fitted,— or  perhaps  distressed.  Whereas  the  objects  of 
faith  can  be  regarded  as  to  have  their  etfect  upon  us 
in  futurity.  They  have  really  very  much  of  this  pro- 
spective character;  but  we  thoughtlessly  make  it  much 
more  exclusively  such  than  it  is. 

Visible  objects,  when  they  have  been  seen,  can  be 
clearly  kept  in  mind  in  absence  ; — during  long  periods 
— at  the  greatest  distance.  We  can  revert  to  the 
time  when  they  were  seen.  We  can  have  a  lively 
image  ;  seem  to  be  looking  at  it  still.  But  the  great 
objects  of  faith  having  never  been  seen,  the  mind  has 
no  express  type  to  revert  to.  The  idea  of  them  is  to  be 
still  again  and  again  formed  anew;  fluctuates  and 


TIIE  OBJECT  OF  DEVOUT  AFFECTION  Oo 


varies; — is  brighter  and  dimmer; — alternates  as  be- 
tween substance  and  shadow. 

With  visible  objects,  speaking  of  intelligent  beings, 
we  can  have  a  sensible  and  definite  communication. 
We  are  evidently  in  one  another's  society ;  look  and 
are  looked  upon  ;  speak  and  are  heard  and  answered  ; 
it  is  a  positive  reciprocation,  and  each  feels  that  it  is 
so.  Invisible  beings  do  not  afford  us  this  perfect 
sense  of  communication.  We  may  think  that  we  are 
seen  and  heard,  but  there  are  no  signs  of  recognition. 

With  visible  beings,  that  is,  with  human  beings,  we 
have  the  sense  of  equality,  of  one  kind  ;  we  are  of  the 
same  nature  and  economy ;  in  the  same  general  con- 
dition of  humanity  and  mortality.  But  as  to  the  un- 
seen existences,  we  are  altogether  out  of  their  order. 
There  is  an  unlikeness  and  a  disparity  immeasurable 
and  unknown.  We  know  not  the  manner  of  their 
dwelling  in  the  creation;  in  what  manner  they  may 
be  near  us ;  what  their  perceptions  and  estimates  of 
us  may  be  ;  what  intelligence,  what  powers  they  pos- 
sess ;  and  we  have  no  power  tliat  can  affect  them  ;  we 
cannot  benefit  or  hurt  them  ;  they  are  totally  separate, 
and  infinitely  independent. 

With  tiie  visible  beings,  t\^e  can  have  a  certain  sense 
of  appropriation  ;  can  obtain  an  interest  in  themwhich 
they  will  acknowledge.  What  they  are  is  partly  for 
me,  partly  mine,  "  this  is  my  relative  ;  this  is  my  friend, 
my  benefactor  ;"  or,  "  this  has  a  kind  regard  for  me, 
as  being  his  friend,  benefactor,"  &c.  But  the  invisible 
beings  I  they  have  a  high  relationship  of  their  own  ! — 
They  stand  aloof,  and  far  outside  of  the  circle  within 
which  we  could  comprehend  what  we  can  call  ours. 
What  could  we  do  to  arrest  their  sympathies  ?  We 
have  nothing  to  offer  to  draw  them  into  the  bands  of 
friendship.  Tiiey  are  not  to  be  for  our  sakes  imprison- 
ed in  this  dark,  and  mortal,  and  sinful  corner  of  the 
creation. 

We  want  some  good  from  objects,  whether  seen  or 
invisible.  The  object, — the  person — seen,  is  present- 
ed to  us  under  this  advantage,  while  we  are  looking 


66  CHRIST,  THOUGH  invisible, 

for  the  benefit  from  him,  tliat  we  can  perceive  him  per- 
forming or  preparing  the  good  for  us.  We  hear  him 
promise;  see  him  take  measures;  observe  him  active. 
We  see  that  he  aims,  devises,  exerts  his  power, — see 
how  there  is  a  process  to  accomphsh  the  good  we  wish. 
But  if  an  invisible  agent  is  to  cmployhimself  for  our 
welfare,  it  is  by  an  unseen  process  and  means.  We 
must  wait  and  expect,  receiving  no  palpable  intima- 
tion ;  perceiving  no  distinct  action,  no  reply  to  inquiry, 
no  assurance  as  to  time,  no  ceriification, — except 
through  faith — that  the  unseen  benefactor  has  not 
turned  all  his  attention  away  to  another  part  of  the 
universe. 

Such  are  some  of  the  advantages  of  converse  v/iih 
objects  that  are  seen,  over  that  with  the  invisible.  In 
this  view  taken  exclusively,  it  was  a  high  privilege 
that  was  enjoyed  by  those  who  saw  and  conversed 
with  our  Lord  on  earth.  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  !" 
'•We  have  seen  with  our  eyes,  and  our  hands  have 
handled  of  the  Word  of  life."  It  may  have  often  oc- 
curred to  most  persons  to  imagine  what  a  signal  ad- 
vantage that  must  have  been  ;  especially  in  tlie  point 
of  feeling  the  affections  irresistibly  drawn  and  de- 
voted to  him.  To  have  been  personally  in  the  pres- 
ence, the  society  of  a  being  believed  to  be  the  Saviour 
of  the  world;  to  have  reflected,  "here  in  this  visible 
form,  are  embodied  the  mercy,  the  sanctity,  the  wis- 
dom, and  the  power,  of  heaven  !"  To  have  looked  on 
his  countenance  to  descry  some  mystic  characters,  in- 
timating the  indwelling  glory  !  To  have  met  the  rays 
of  divine  benignity  in  his  look,  and  have  felt  as  if  they 
shed  light  and  life  into  the  very  soul !  To  have  heard 
him  pronounce  revelations  of  truth  which  the  reason 
of  mortals  could  never  reach,  intermingled  with  every 
sign  of  gentleness,  compassion,  and  yet  authority  ! 
To  have  been  present  at  many  of  his  mighty  opera- 
tions of  power  and  mercy  !  To  have  witnessed  the 
last  aflecting  and  amazing  scenes  of  his  presence  on 
earth !  The  persuasion  is,  that  there  must  have 
been  irresistible  captivation ;  that  every  source  of  af- 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DEVOUT  AFFECTION.     G7 

fection  in  the  soul  would  have  opened,  and  the  heart 
devoted  to  such  an  object  for  ever!  In  a  manner 
parallel,  though  so  inferior  in  degree,  a  powerful  in- 
fluence on  tlie  affections  and  passions  may  be  ima- 
gined as  inevitable,  if  we  could  have  beheld  the  most 
illustrious  of  the  prophets  or  apostles,  as  Moses, 
Elijah,  Daniel,  Paul.  On  the  view  of  the  matter  thus 
far,  we  might  be  apt  to  feel,  as  if  an  immense  advan- 
tage had  been  lost  to  us,  for  the  means  of  command- 
ing our  affections  to  the  best  object,  in  our  not  having 
seen,  and  not  being  permitted  to  see,  the  personal 
manifestations  of  Christ. 

But  this  is  only  one  side  of  the  subject.  Look  a 
moment  at  the  other — and  we  need  not  fear  to  assert, 
— that  on  the  whole  it  is  a  high  advantage  not  to  have 
seen  Jesus  Christ ;  an  advantage  in  favour  of  the 
affections  claimed  to  be  devoted  to  him. 

We  need  not  dwell  on  the  possibihty  of  feeling  a 
great  interest  in  objects  we  have  never  beheld.  Re- 
collect what  a  measure  of  sentiment,  of  affection  in  its 
various  modes,  has  been  given  to  the  illustrious  per- 
sonages of  history ;  the  glowing  admira.tion  in  con- 
templating, as  there  displayed,  heroes,  deliverers  of 
their  country,  avengers  of  oppression,  and  men  of 
transcendent  intellectual  power.  A  softer  emotion, 
but  a  warm  one,  has  been  excited  at  the  view, — the 
imaginary  sight, — of  the  examples  of  consummate  vir- 
tue, such  as  was  not  displayed  in  tumult  and  conflict ; 
philanthropists,  who  exhausted  their  lives  in  alleviat- 
ing distress ;  men  of  inflexible  conscience  and  integ- 
rity, even  to  the  death ;  examples  of  suffering  inno- 
cence, persons  of  signal  piety,  who  lived  as  on  the 
verge  of  heaven, — and  had  not  in  spirit  far  to  go 
when  they  died.  Think  !  what  a  captivation  you  have 
felt  in  beholding  them,  in  thought ;  how  the  spirit  has 
struggled,  as  it  were,  to  place  itself  in  their  company  ! 
The  mere  imaginary  beings  of  poetry  and  fiction  have 
often  laid  mighty  hold  of  the  heart.  It  has  accepted 
them  as  affecting  realities,  despite  of  the  understand- 
ing, which  knev/  they  never  existed,  which  liardly  be- 


68  CHRIST,  THOUGH  invisible, 

lievcd  that  such  tilings  conld  exist ;  and  some  of  them 
will  retain  their  place  and  lavour  in  the  mind  as  long 
as  we  live.  All  this  shows  the  possibility  of  giving  an 
animated  affection  to  objects  that  never  appeared  to 
us  in  visible  reality. 

But  there  is  a  nobler  manifestation  of  this  possibility. 
Think  of  all  the  ati'ection  of  human  hearts  that  haa 
been  given  to  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  since  he  with- 
drew his  visible  presence  from  it !  He  has  appeared 
to  no  eye  of  man  since  the  apostles  ;  but  millions  have 
loved  him  with  a  fervency  which  nothing  could  ex- 
tinguish, in  life  or  death.  Think  ol'the  great  '•  army" 
of  diose  who  have  suffered  death  lor  this  love,  and 
have  cherished  it  in  death  !  A  mightier  number  still 
would  have  died  for  it,  and  with  it,  if  summoned  to  do 
so.  Think  of  all  those  who,  in  the  excitement  and  in- 
spiration of  this  love,  have  indefatigably  laboured  to 
promote  the  glory  of  its  great  object ! — and  the  innu- 
merable mulitude  of  those  who,  though  less  promi- 
nently distinguished,  have  felt  this  sacred  sentiment 
living  in  the  soul,  as  the  principle  of  its  best  lilc.  and 
the  source  of  all  its  immortal  hopes  !  This  is  a  splen- 
.  did  fact  in  the  history  of  our  race,  a  glorious  exception 
to  the  vast  and  fatal  expenditure  of  human  affection 
on  unworthy  and  merely  visible  things.  So  grand  a 
tribute  of  the  soul  has  been  redeemed  to  be  given  to 
the  Redeemer,  though  an  object  unseen  ! 

It  is  to  the  advantage  of  the  affection  of  his  disciples 
toward  him,  that  they  see  him  not.  It  may  be  recol- 
lected that  a  special  benediction  is  pronounced  by  our 
Lord  himself,  on  the  faith  that  operates  to  produce  this 
love.  '"Blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen  and  yet 
believed."  But  more  than  this;  revert  in  thought  to 
the  personal  manifestation  of  our  Lord  on  earth,— and 
consider  how  it  would  act  on  the  believing  spectator's 
mind.  Sublime  greatness  would,  must,  by  an  inevi- 
table law  of  human  feeling,  be  reduced,  shaded,  dimin- 
ished, as  to  its  impression  on  the  m.ind,  by  being 
shrouded  and  presented  in  a  mere  human  form.  Even 
when  the  intellect  recognized  a  superhuman  glory 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DEVOUT  AFFECTION.  69 

(l\vc]ling  there  "the  fulness  of  the  Godhead  bodily" 
there  is  yet  such  an  obstinate  control  of  the  senses 
over  the  mind's  apprehension,  that  the  sight  of  a  mere 
common  human  form  would,  absolutely,  in  a  degree, 
contract,  depress,  and  prostrate  that  apprehension. 
Has  it  not  struck  your  thoughts,  that,  to  observe  the 
shape,  features,  limbs,  and  ordinary  action  of  that, 
must  have  made  an  impression  which  would  be  in 
counter-action  to  the  impressions  of  majesty? 

Consider  also,  that,  in  beholding  a  glorious  and  di- 
vine nature  in  such  a  manifestation,  the  affection  of 
those  devoted  to  him  would  fix  very  much,  often 
chiefly,  on  the  mere  human  quality  of  the  being  be- 
fore them,  and  therefore,  would  be  famiiliarized,  shall 
we  say  vulgarized,  down  to  that  proportion ;  it  might 
be  most  warm  and  cordial,  but  not  elevated  and  awful. 
In  fact,  our  Lord  had  sometimes  to  admonish  and 
deter  his  affectionate  friends  from  an  assumption  in- 
considerately ventured  by  them  on  the  ground  of  his 
humiliated  appearance.  They  appear  sometimes  in 
a  perplexity  of  feeling  between  his  plain,  humble  hu- 
manity, and  that  mysterious  glory  which  at  intervals 
lightened  upon  them  from  within.  Perhaps  the  chief 
design  of  the  transfiguration  was  to  correct  and  raise 
their  low  ideas  of  him. 

Consider  besides,  that,  under  the  full  direct  impres- 
sion of  sight,  there  would  be  a  great  restriction  on  faith, 
acting  in  the  way  of  imagination.  The  mind  does 
not  know  how  to  expand  into  splendid  ideal  con- 
ception upon  an  object  presented  close,  and  plain, 
and  familiar,  to  sight. 

Should  not  such  considerations  make  it  evident, 
that  to  see  the  Messiah  in  his  personal  manifestation, 
was  a  mode  of  contemplating  him  very  inferior,  for  the 
excitement  of  the  sublimer  kind  of  affiection,  to  that 
which  we  have  to  exercise  by  faith  ?  .  It  is  true,  that 
to  those  who  regard  him  as  nothing  more  than  a  man, 
all  this  will  appear  impertinent  and  fantastic.  But 
those  who  solemnly  believe  their  salvation  to  depend 
on  his  being  infinitely  more,  will  feel  the  importance 
7 


70  CHRIST.  THOUGH  INVISIBLE, 

of  all  that  gives  scope  to  their  faculties  for  magnifying 
the  idea  of  their  liedecmer.  This  scope  is  the  greater 
for  our  "not  having  seen;"  since, — our  conceptions 
are  not  reduced  and  confined  down  to  a  precise  image 
of  human  personality, — a  particular,  individual,  graph- 
ical form,  which  would  be  always  present  to  the 
mind's  eye,  in  every  meditation  on  the  exalted  Re- 
deemer. 

We  have  no  exact  and  invariable  image,  placing 
him  before  us  as  a  person  that  we  know ;  exhibiting 
him  in  the  mere  ordinary  predicament  of  humanity. 
It  does  invincibly  appear  to  me,  that  this  would  be  a 
depressive  circumstance  in  solemn  and  elevated  con- 
templations. We  are  not  informed  how  this  circum- 
stance did  operate  in  the  minds  of  the  apostles,  who 
had  seen  him.  It  would  have  been  interesting  to 
know  in  what  manner,  and  with  what  effect,  the  pre- 
cise and  familiar  image  mingled  with  their  their  lofty 
and  magnificent  thoughts  of  him.  But  it  is  clearly 
better  to  be  left,  as  we  are,  to  an  indistinct  and  sha- 
dowy conception  of  the  person  of  our  Saviour  as  seen 
on  earth.  For  thus  we  can  with  somewhat  the  more 
facility  give  our  thoughts  an  unlimited  enlargement 
in  contemplating  his  sublime  character  and  nature. 
Thus  also  we  are  left  at  greater  freedom  in  the  effort 
to  form  some  grand,  though  glimmering,  idea  of  him 
as  possessing  a  glorious  body,  assumed  after  his  vic- 
tory over  death.  Our  freedom  of  thought  is  the  more 
entire  for  arraying  the  exalted  Mediator  in  every  glory 
which  speculation,  imagination,  devotion,  can  com- 
bine, to  shadow  forth  the  magnificence  of  such  an 
adored  object. 

Do  not  let  it  seem  as  if  such  a  train  of  thought  were 
like  being  ashamed  of  the  humiliation  of  our  Lord2 
We  cannot  be  ashamed  to  see  our  humble  nature  so' 
honoured  as  by  his  assuming  even  its  inferior  part. 
We  cannot  be  ashamed  to  see  such  an  illustration  of 
the  value  set  on  our  souls,  as  that  he,  the  Judge  of 
their  value,  would  descend  from  heaven  to  assume  a 
body  to  redeem  them. 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DEVOUT  AFFECTION.  /I 

Bat  it  is  important  that  our  conceptions  of  him 
should  but  Httle  rest  on  the  level,  if  we  may  so  speak, 
of  his  state  of  humiliation.  In  the  Scriptures,  besides 
the  doctrine  of  his  divinity,  there  is  much  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  imagery  by  which  he  is  represented,  to 
demand  an  elevation  in  our  ideas  of  his  personal 
glory.  For  example,  the  manner  in  which  he  appears 
in  the  visions  of  Daniel ;  the  fact  of  the  transfigura- 
tion ;  the  overpowering  lustre  in  his  manifestation  to 
Paul ;  and  the  transcendent  images  in  the  visions  of 
John.  It  is  clearly  intended  that  our  predominant 
idea  should  not  be  humble  and  familiar.  "We  must 
think  that,  in  this  respect,  there  is  a  very  serious  fault, 
— an  unintentional  impiety, — in  many  of  our  popular 
devotional  writings,  even  in  such  as  are  designed  and 
used  for  public  worship.  Such,  we  think,  is  the  ad- 
vantage, to  later  Christians,  of  not  having  seen  their 
Lord  in  a  mortal  form. 

We  not  only  have  not  seen  him,  but  we  live  very 
long  after  the  time  in  which  he  could  be  seen  ;  we, 
therefore,  in  endeavouring  to  form  a  sublime  concep- 
tion of  him,  can  add,  and  accumulate  upon  the  idea, 
.all  the  glory  that  has  arisen  to  him  from  the  progress 
of  his  cause  in  the  world  ever  since.  So  many  mighty 
interpositions  ; — conquests  gained  ; — strongliolds  of 
darkness  demolished ; — such  a  multitude  of  sinful  im- 
mortal spirits  redeemed, — devoted  to  him  on  earth, 
and  now  triumphing  with  him  in  heaven; — all  this  is 
become  an  added  radiance  around  the  idea  of  him  ! 

Such  is  the  object  of  Christian  faith.  As  such  an 
exalted  being,  he  is  to  be  believed  on  unseen.  "  In 
whom,  though  now  ye  see  him  not,  yet  believing," — 
that  is,  holding  a  most  firm  assurance  that  such  he  is, 
and  regarding  him  with  an  earnest  interest  as  such  a 
Redeemer.  Then  an  inseparable  result  or  associate 
of  that  faith,  is  to  "love"  him,  though  unseen;  to  give 
the  soul's  affection  to  him;  lo  think  of  him  with  com- 
placency and  gratitude  ;  to  think  of  him  as  what  it 
w^ere  death  to  want;  to  devote  the  soul  to  him  as  pos- 
sessing the  supreme  excellence  that  deserves  this  de- 
votement,  and  as  having  done  that  for  us  that  demands  it. 


rZ  CIIRTST,  THOUGH   INVISIBLE,   ETC. 

Tlien,  tlirongrh  tlii.-^  faith  and  love,  there  will  be  ''joy." 
"Ye  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory." 
?>Iost  rationally  such  believers  rejoice,  because  so  be- 
lisviniT  and  loving,  they  have  a  present,  direct  access 
to  where  he  maintains,  though  unseen,  the  exercise  of 
his  mediatorial  power.  They  believe  all  that  is  prom- 
ised by  him,  and  in  his  name.  They  have  the  sense, 
the  assurance,  of  a  sacred  union  with  him.  which  in- 
volves an  ultimate  participation  of  his  glory  and  joy. 
They  consider  him  as  actually  preparing  for  them  the 
felicity  of  another  state, — and  as  conducting  and  train- 
ing them  toward  it.  They  can  sometimes  imagine 
somewhat  of  that  felicity — and  how  can  they  imagine 
it  as  to  be  theirs,  and  not  rejoice  ? — And  inasmuch  as 
these  anticipations  are  of  something  unseen,  unrealiz- 
ed, and  indefinitely  great,  the  '"joy"  is  corespondent; 
it  is  "unspeakable,"  in  this  sense,  that  it  is  not  restrict- 
ed, not  limited  to  a  precise  measure,  but  expansive, — 
mingled  with  the  sense  of  mystery.  It  aspires  to  be 
commensurate  with  unknown  possibilities,  and  so  is 
"  unspeakable,"  as  well  as  in  its  emphasis.  The  soul 
of  man,  if  not  sunk  and  stupified  in  the  earth,  aspires 
for  ever  to  a  joy  having  this  quality,  that  is,  undefina- 
ble,  not  reducible  to  exact  and  competent  expression, 
that  goes  beyond  all  assigned  limits  and  calculation. 

See  in  all  this,  how  the  joy  of  Christians — the  only 
persons  entitled  to  rejoice  on  earth — is  both  in  its  sen- 
timent and  its  causes,  combined  with,  founded  upon,  a 
recognition  of  Christ. 

On  the  supposition  of  oCir  Lord's  being  merely  a  hu- 
man person,  however  exalted  in  prophetic  office,  no 
language  expressive  of  the  sentiments  and  emotions 
regarding  him  could  be  more  absurdly  extravagant, 
more  unworthy  of  apostolic  seriousness  and  wisdom, 
than  such  expressions  as  those  of  the  text  ;  to  which, 
nevertheless,  there  are  very  many  throughout  the  New 
Testament  that  correspond.  On  this  hypothesis,  nd 
men  ever  wrote  or  spoke  in  a  strain  of  more  inflated 
fanaticism,  than  they  who  were  commissioned  to  illu- 
minate the  world ! 


73 


VIII 

FALLACIES  OPERATING  AGAINST  EARNEST- 
NESS IN  RELIGION. 

"  /  wj'i^d  tho'c  wert  cold  oj^  hot. " — These  wor(]s  oc- 
cur in  the  austere  and  warning  address  to  the  church 
at  Laodicea.  The  sentence  which  comes  after  is  equal- 
ly well  remembered.  "Because  thou  art  lukewarm, 
and  neither  cold  nor  hot,  I  will  spue  thee  out  of  my 
mouth ;"  which  may  suggest  this  observation. — that 
the  Supreme  Teacher,  in  the  sacred  Scriptures,  did  not 
subject  himself  to  consult  any  niceties  of  literary  re- 
finement. The  Bible  shows  numerous  instances  of 
metaphors  and  illustrations,  of  a  character  very  home- 
ly, unpolished,  and  sometimes  even  repulsive.  If  we 
should  say  that  in  part  this  was  a  mere  conformity  to 
the  manner  of  the  ages  and  places  in  which  tlie  di- 
vine oracles  were  uttered, — it  would  still  not  the  less 
be  true, — that  it  was  not  for  the  divine  Dictator  of  truth 
and  law  to  recognize  the  claim  of  any  artificial  order 
of  human  feelings  and  modes ;  or  any  rules  but  that  of 
plain  truth,  because  God  was  to  speak  to  man  in  his 
own  absolute  character  of  Creator  and  Sovereign  Dic- 
tator 3 — and  to  man  in  man's  psrmament  substantial 
character  of  creature  and  subject,  with  an  understand- 
ing and  a  conscience  to  bs  spoken  toj — and  this  was  a 
relation  superior  to  all  artificial  rules  of  men's  conmiu- 
nications  with  one  another.  God  therefore  would  speak 
to  man  directly  as  a  creature  standing  before  Him,  and 
not  as  if  he  were  regarding  man  as  a  creature  placed 
in  refined  society,  and  to  be  addressed  in  a  language 
modified  according  to  its  rules;  and  as  if  he  were  con- 
siderate of  the  creature's  diirnity  and  taste.  Some  of 
the  more  trivial  of  the  infidel  tribe  hav^e  attempted  on 
this  account  to  detract  from  the  venerableness  and 
sanctity  of  the  Bible,  talking  about  its  dealing  in  coarse 
language  and  images.  As  well  might  the  vain  spirits 
■7* 


74  FALLACIES  OPERATIXG  AGAINST 

in  tho  prophets'  times  have  affected  to  be  shocked  that 
Elijah  would  not  put  on  a  court  dress  when  he  had  to 
appear  in  the  name  of  the  Ahniirhty  before  kings,  and 
queens,  and  princes;  or  that  John  the  Baptist  came  in 
so  coarse  a  garb  to  preach  repentance,  and  announce 
the  kingdom  of  God.  Yet  after  all  this,  it  is  a  perfect- 
ly obvious  fact,  that  the  Scriptures  do  abound  with 
every  kind  of  beauty  and  sublimity  in  sentiments,  im- 
ages, and  language.  As  in  the  case  of  Elijah,  there 
was  his  rough  mantle,  but  also  the  chariot  and  horses 
of  fire.  But  then  it  is  most  remarkably  cliaracleristic 
of  the  sacred  writings,  that  these  beauties  seem  to 
come  with  no  manner  of  design  to  please  the  taste  and 
fancy;  they  appear  as  most  simply  spontaneous  from 
the  subject. 

"  I  would  thou  wert  cold  or  hot."  This  is  a  condem- 
nation of  carelessness  and  indifference.  The  terms  do 
not  exactly  imply  an  entire  absence  of  every  feeling 
excited  by  the  religion  of  v/hich  they  had  taken  the 
name.  But  then  woul(]  it  have  been  better  than  hav- 
ing so  little,  to  have  had  absolutely  none  ?  In  two 
respects  it  would.  There  would  have  been  less  of  the 
means  of  self-deception.  "  Thou  sayest  I  am  rich  anl 
increased  in  goods,  and  have  need  of  nothing."  All 
semblance  and  pretension  to  Christianity  being  abjur- 
ed, there  would  have  been  less  injury  done  to  it  in  the 
opinions  and  feelings  of  the  irreligious  world. 

Without  wishing  to  adjust  any  special  question,  we 
take  the  expression  simply  as  a  most  impressive  and 
menacing  condemnation  of  insensibility,  and  indiffer- 
ence, and  neglect  respecting  the  one  most  important 
matter  in  existence,  and  as  coming  directly  from  our 
merciful  Lord  and  Redeemer.  The  subject,  therefore, 
on  which  we  invite  you  to  think  a  few  moments,  is  the 
most  common,  and  plain,  and  beaten  of  all  subjects 
almost  that  we  can  speak  or  hear  of;  the  absoJuie  ne- 
cessity of  being  in  earnest  about  our  highest  inter- 
ests. 

Considerations  to  enforce  this  great  point,  may  be 
inculcated  on  those  who  are  quite  unconcerned  ;  but 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION.  iD 

especially  on  tliose  wlio  feel  in  some,  but  an  ineiTiclent 
degree,  its  importance.  Such  a  topic  has  great  ditli- 
cuhy  to  lay  any  hold  on  the  mind — almost  even  to  en- 
gage the  attention.  We  all  know  the  effect  of  perfect 
familiarity  and  endless  reiteration.  But  more ;  this 
great  familiar  truth  seems  to  suffer  in  its  pov.'er  of  in- 
teresting men  by  the  very  fulness  of  its  evidence,  and 
of  the  conviction  with  which  it  is  admitted.  With  the 
greatest  number  of  the  moderately  instructed  and  so- 
ber part  of  society,  this  great  practical  truth  has  a  set- 
tled admission  and  establishment  in  the  judgment.  It 
is  instantly  acknowledged,  almost  before  the  sentence 
can  be  finished.  "  Certainly — certainly  ;  we  know  all 
that ;  it  is  an  undeniable  truth."  It  has  its  place  there, 
without  opposition,  question,  or  doubt.  Is  it  not  a  most 
momentous,  and  mighty,  and  urgent  truth?  But  by 
this  ready,  assenting,  unresisting  admission,  its  power 
seems  to  be  destroyed.  So  that  it  is  like  a  giant  war- 
rior, with  his  arms,  conveyed  dead  into  a  cem.etery,  in- 
stead of  being  introduced  living  into  a  field  of  battle. 
Think  of  this  fact !  The  evidence  and  admission  so 
full,  that  the  mind  has  nothing  to  do  vvith  it  as  a  ques- 
tion, and  therefore  feels  as  if  it  had  little  to  do  with  it 
as  an  interest !  While  its  being  a  matter  of  the 
mightiest  interest,  is  the  very  thing  that  is  affirmed  and 
acknowledged  !  Just  as  if  for  the  irresistible  occupancy 
of  the  judgment  by  a  solemn  truth,  the  perverse  soul 
would  take  its  revenge,  by  withdrawing  away  the  af^ 
fections  and  passions  from  all  conjunction  or  communi- 
cation with  it.  Like  the  policy  of  clearing  away  all 
the  sustenance  of  life  and  action  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  a  position  which  is  impregnably  occupied  by 
an  unwelcome  power,  to  debilitate  him  by  famine. 
Whatever  be  the  explanation,  the  fact  is  evident  that 
the  actual  power  of  this  great  principle  or  truth,  the 
absolute  necessity  of  being  in  earnest  a/jozi^  our  high- 
est interest,  seems  to  be  repressed  and  quelled,  in  coh- 
equence  of^  the  ready  and  complete  acknowledgement 
it  obtains  in  the  mind.  It  seems  to  go  to  sleep  there, 
because  it  holds  its  place  certainly, — is  not  contradic- 


76  FALLACIES  OPERATING  AGAINST 

ted. — and  cannot  be  expelled.  If  some  serious  doubts 
could  be  raised  upon  it,  they  might  make  tlic  matter 
interesting, — they  might  turn  and  fix  thought  upon  it. 
But  there  is  no  question  about  it.  and  therefore  men 
never  think  of  it.  AVe  might  compare  this  listless  ad- 
mission of  truth  to  the  kind  of  inanimate  aspect  of  the 
scene  under  the  full  meridian  sunshine,  in  summer,  as 
contrasted  vvith  the  shadows  and  other  effects  of  dawn, 
evening,  &c.  The  monition  applied  is  frustrated  ;  the 
mind  giving  a  dull  reply  from  within,  that  '•  all  that  is 
perfectly  true  and  ticknowledged."  But  should  not  the 
mind  sometimes  turn  upon  itself  and  say  with  wonder, 
'•  Is  it  really  a  fact  that  1  do  admit  and  acknowledge 
all  this?"    " 

Perhaps  another  thing  that  causes  this  general 
solemn  admonition  to  be  in  earnest  about  our  liighest 
interests,  to  come  with  less  force,  is  the  circumstance 
that  it  is  applicable  and  pertinent  to  all.  It  concerns 
??ie,  not  more  than  all  these  millions.  Its  absolute  im- 
portance, as  applicable  to  any  one,  seems  dissipated 
in  the  idea  how  many  it  is  applicable  to.  There  is 
some  unthinking  feeling,  as  ii"  the  authority  and  im- 
portance of  the  one  great  admonition  were  divided 
into  innumerable  diminutive  shares,  with  but  incon- 
siderable force  in  each,  at  least  in  mine.  How  kindly 
and  humbly  each  is  willing  not  to  account  his  soul 
more  important  than  that  of  anj^  of  his  fellow  mortals  ! 
Yet  not  so  benevolent,  in  another  view  of  the  matter; 
for  in  a  certain  indistinct  way,  he  is  laying  the  blame 
on  the  rest  of  mankind,  if  he  is  indifferent  about  his 
ou'-n  highest  interest.  "  They  are  under  the  same 
great  obligation  ; — in  their  manner  of  practically  ac- 
knowledging it,  they  are  my  pattern ; — they  keep  me 
to  their  level.  If  their  shares  of  the  grand  concern 
were  more  w^orthily  attended  to,  probably  mine  would 
also.  One  has  fancied  sometimes  what  might  have 
been  theefTect,  in  the  selected  instances,  if  the  case  had 
been  that  the  Sovereign  Creator  had  appointed  but  a 
few  men,  here  and  there  one,  to  an  immortal  existence, 
or  at  least  declared  it  only  v/ith  respect  to  them.     One 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION.  4  4 

cannot  help  imagining  them  to  feel,  every  hour,  the 
impression  of  their  sublime  and  awlul  predicament : 
But  why — why  is  it  less  felt  a  sublime  and  solemn 
one,  because  the  rest  of  our  race  are  in  it  too  ?  Does 
not  each  as  a  perfectly  distinct  one,  stand  in  the  whole 
magnitude  of  the  concern,  and  the  responsibility,  and 
the  danger,  as  absolutely  if  there  were  no  other  one  ? 
How  is  it  less  to  him  than  if  he  thus  stood  alone  ?  Their 
losing  the  happy  interest  of  eternity  will  not  be,  that  he 
shall  not  liave  lost  it  for  himself  If  he  shall  have  lost  it, 
he  will  feel  that  they  have  not  lost  it  for  him.  He  should 
therefore  now  feel  that  upon  him  is  concentrated,  even 
individually  upon  him,  the  entire  importance  of  this 
chief  concern. 

There  is  far  too  little  of  the  serious  practice  of 
bringing  as  near  together  in  view  as  thought  can  do 
it,  the  two  orders  of  things  which  both  belong  to  us — 
so  belong  to  us  that  they  must  both  be  taken  into  our 
practical  adjustment.  Our  thinking  and  talking  abound 
with  comparisons  and  comparative  estimates.  We  are 
often  placing  one  kind  of  property, — one  condition  in 
life, — one  career  of  action, — one  measure  of  talent. — 
one  model  of  character, — respectively,  in  comparison 
against  another.  We  put  one  tract  and  climate  of 
the  earth,  our  own  frequently,  in  comparison  against  a 
remote  and  very  different  one  ;  and  with  what  interest 
this  is  done  when  a  migration  is  contemplated  as 
probable  !  Nov/  there  are  two  classes  of  things,  the 
subjects  of  an  unspeakably  more  striking  compari- 
son ;  and  with  this  circumstance,  that  they  and  the 
comparison,  immediately,  and  essentially,  and  pro- 
foundly concern  us.  There  is  a  condition  good  or  evil 
of  this  living  but  dying  form  of  matter,  our  body  ; — 
and  the  condition  of  the  spirit  which  inhabits,  but  is  to 
leave  it.  There  is  the  world  v/e  are  in,  the  object  of 
our  senses  ; — and  a  world  to  vdiich  we  are  to  go,  the 
object  of  our  faith.  There  is  this  short  life  ; — and  an 
endless  one.  There  are  the  pains  and  delights  of 
mortality ; — and  the  joys  or  woes  of  eternity.  Nov/ 
unless  a  man  really  will  set  himself,  in  serious  thought, 


78  FALLACIES  OPERATING  AGAINST 

to  the  comparative  estimate  of  these,  and  that  too  as 
an  estimate  to  be  made  on  his  own  account,  how  pow- 
erless on  him  must  be  the  call  that  lells  him  he  must 
be  "in  earnest  !" 

In  this  particular,  of  inattention  to  comparison  and 
proportion,  an  admonition  in  terms  of  reproach  might 
be  directed  to  some  persons  of  large  thought  and  sci- 
ence. They  arc  gratified  in  contemplating  things  in 
their  proportions  to  one  another — in  calculations  of 
quantities,  magnitudes,  distances.  They  will  go  in 
this  process  into  the  very  profound  of  number; — go  to 
the  verge  of  the  solar  system,  and  thence  to  the  fixed 
stars.  They  will  indulge  in  all  the  pleasure  and  pride 
of  such  an  intellectual  operation,  and  yet  never  think 
of  any  such  thing  as  an  estimate  between  the  things 
respective!}^,  of  a  momentary  and  an  eternal  existence  ; 
— while  this  the  most  vitally  concerns  them,  which  all 
the  other  ascertainments  of  proportion  do  not  I 

Another  thing  may  be  added  to  this  account  of  causes 
tending  to  frustrate  the  injunction  to  be  in  earnest 
about  our  highest  concerns  ;  that  the  mind  willingly 
takes  a  perverse  advantage  of  the  obscurity  ot  the 
objects  of  our  faith,  and  for  the  incompetence  of  our 
faculties  for  apprehending  them.  What  is  it  that  we 
shall  pass  through  death  to  see  ?  What  can  be  the 
manner  of  a  separate  spirit's  active  existence  ?  What 
is  the  economy  of  the  other  world  ?  How  can  our 
mode  of  existence  be  formed  and  adapted  to  a  widely 
different  state !  Only  glimmering  intimations  are 
given  through  the  darkness  ;  if  general  ideas  are  given, 
they  are  very  indefinite  ones,  if  special,  they  are  only 
similitudes  and  metaphorical  shadows.  How  thick  a 
veil!  And  what  then?  A  devout  spirit  would  not 
indeed  ask  for  that  veil  to  be  prematurely  undrawn, — 
would  not,  with  an  urgency  approaching  to  profane- 
ness,  seek  to  pierce  or  rend  it.  But  such  a  spirit  would 
look  intently, — feels  a  pious  inquisitiveness, — make 
efforts  to  realize, — "enter  into  that  within  the  veil." — 
and  would  constantly  endeavor  to  magnify,  as  earnestly 
wishing  to  feel,  the  power  of  the  unseen  workl.     But, 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION.  79 

as  the  contrary  of  all  this,  how  much  is  there  of  the 
disposition  to  take — from  the  obscnrily,  the  indefinite- 
ness,  the  impossibility,  of  distinctly  realizing. — a  plea 
for  not  thinking  on  the  subject,  and  for  not  being  deeply 
interested  by  it !  There  is  a  willingness  even  to  make 
the  veil  still  more  thick,  and  reduce  the  glimmering  to 
utter  darkness,  as  strengthening  the  excuse.  ■'  AVe  do 
not  know  how  to  carry  our  thoughts  from  this  scene 
into  tliat.  It  is  like  entering  a  mysterious  and  vision- 
ary wilderness.  It  is  evidently  implied  to  us,  by  the 
iact  as  it  stands,  that  the  opening  of  that  scene  upon 
us  now  would  confound  us  in  all  our  business  here. 
Were  it  not  best  to  be  content  to  mind  chiefly  our  duty 
here ;  and  when  it  shall  be  God's  will  and  time,  he 
will  shov'/  us  what  there  is  yonder  I"  Partial  truth 
thus  perversely  applied,  tends  to  cherish  and  excuse  an 
indisposition  to  look  forward  in  contemplations  of  here- 
after ;  and  this  indisposition,  excused  or  protected  by 
this  allegation,  defeats  the  force  of  the  call,  the  sum- 
mons, to  be  in  earnest  about  our  highest  interests. 

There  is  another  pernicious  practical  deception, 
through  which  the  force  of  this  call  to  earnestness  is 
defeaFed,  and  the  strong  'necessity  which  it  urges,  is 
evaded;  that  is,  the  not  recognizing  in  ihe  parts  of 
life,  the  grand  duty  and  interest  which  yet  is  acknow- 
ledged to  belong  to  it  as  a  ichole.  "  It  belongs  to  this 
life,"  a  man  shall  say,  "  to  make  an  earnest  and  effect- 
ual business  of  the  supreme  concern."  Flow  belongs 
to  it?  to  what  part?  to  the  last  year  or  hours  of  it? 
or  to  a  time  of  sickness  ?  or  to  any  season  or  stage  of 
it  in  particular  ?  "  No  ;  the  concern  is  combined 
with  it  as  a  whole  ;  it  all  belongs  to  it  all."  Well,  but 
then  this  grand  interest  is  to  be  felt  clinging  as  it  were 
to  each  part,  and  all  the  parts.  Do  you  let  it  be  so  ? 
Do  you  feel  it  so  ?  No  ;  you  spend  one  part,  and  use 
another  part,  as  an  exempt  thing  ;  you  do  not  acknow- 
ledge the  great  interest  as  enforced  upon  that.  Still 
"  life,"  you  say,  "  as  a  ichole,  is  for  the  grand  con- 
cern." But  what  is  the  ichole,  if  part,  and  part,  pass- 
es free  of  the  practical  claim  ?    If  every  spot  you  are 


so  FALLACIES  OrERATING  AGAIXST 

successively  upon  is  as  a  little  unclaimed  island,  wlicrc 
at  last  is  the  continent  for  the  kingdom  of  God  to  be 
established  over  I  And  yet,  through  a  fatal  fallacy, 
life  is  still  regarded  as  the  r,omelliing  altogtihcr.  in 
which  is  to  be  accomplished  the  purpose  in  question ! 
••  This  day  is  not  much,"  a  man  thinks,  "  nor  this  week, 
— a  particle  only  in  so  ample  a  thing  as  all  life  ;"  and 
he  is  not  distinctly  sensible  that  he  is  doing  all  he  can, 
in  each  separate  part,  to  throw  the  whole  of  the  grand 
affair  on  a  narrowing  breadth, — on  the  last  part, — or 
quite  off  the  whole.  He  may  not  perceive,  that  while 
this  delusion,  like  a  mighty  evil  spirit,  is  still  clearing 
and  driving  off,  space  after  space,  the  momentous  con- 
cern,— it  is  thickening  and  darkening,  if  we  may  so 
speak,  and  becoming  charged  with  awful  thunders,  to 
fall  upon  him  in  his  last  hour  or  in  eternity  ! 

We  add  one  more  description  of  delusive  feeling 
tending  to  frustrate  the  admonitions  to  an  earnest  in- 
tentness  on  the  great  object, — a  soothing  self-assur- 
ance, founded,  the  man  can  hardly  explain  on  what, 
that  some  way  or  other,  a  thing  which  is  so  essentially 
important,  -will  be  effected,  surely  must  be  effected, 
because  it  is  so  indispensable.  Very  few,  we  may 
presume,  except  those  who  are  dying  in  despair,  really 
give  up  themselves  for  lost.  A  man  says,  '■'■I  am  not 
mad.  I  surely  shall  not  lose  my  soul."  As  if  there 
must  be  something  in  the  very  order  of  nature,  to  pre- 
vent any  thing  going  so  far  wrong  as  that.  So  that 
the  full  sense  of  danger  presses  home  on  very  few  ; — 
on  very  few  even  of  those  who  are  forced  to  suspect 
themselves  to  be,  if  taken  as  just  now,  in  a  situation 
obnoxious  to  danger.  They  trust  that  the  deciding 
moment  is  not  to  find  them  thus,  however  it  is  to  be 
that  this  confidence  is  to  be  verified.  It  is  indeed 
partly  in  themselves,  that  they  trust  for  this.  They 
have  reason  and  conscience,  and  a  settled  conviction 
of  the  most  important  truth  in  the  world.  '-These 
cannot  fail  to  answer,  at  length,  their  proper  end. 
Adequate  causes  must  and  will  have  their  effects." 
But  these  have  failed  hitherto,  and  are  even  now  in- 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION.  SI 

efficacious.  How  is  that?  They  cannot  tell  liow  or 
why,  but  they  will  not  always  fail.  There  will  be 
more  thought,  perhaps — more  resolution — and  less  to 
cause  these  powers  and  forces  to  fail. 

Sometimes  particular  circumstances  in  a  man's  his- 
tory are  sutfered  to  excite  in  him  a  kind  of  supersti- 
tious hope.  Perhaps,  for  instance,  in  his  childhood  or 
since,  he  was  saved  Ir-om  peril  or  death  in  some  very 
remarkable  manner.  His  friends  thought  that  this  must 
surely  be  a  propitious  omen  ;  and  he  too  is  vv^illing  to 
persuade  himself  so.  Perhaps  very  pious  persons  have 
taken  a  particular  interest  about  him ;  he  knows  he 
has  been  the  subject  of  many  prayers.  I  recollect  the 
instance  of  a  man,  and  not  at  all  a  weak  man  in  point 
of  general  sense,  who  was  surrendered  to  the  vanities 
of  life;  but  retaining  constantly  and  fully  the  right 
conviction  as  to  the  absolute  necessity  of  religion,  and 
the  final  consequence  of  the  neglect  of  it.  A  kind 
friend  said  to  him,  "How  long  is  this  to  continue? 
you  know  perfectly  to  what  end  this  is  going."  He 
answered,  that  he  had  great  hope  that  a  better  state 
of  things  would  come  sometime :  for  he  had  great  con- 
fidence tha,t  the  prayers  of  his  pious  departed  mother 
could  not  have  been  in  vain  ! 

A  man  may  encourage  this  soothing  confidence  that 
he  shall  not  fatally  neglect, — that  he  shall  yet  become 
in  earnest — from  recollection  of  moments  and  occa- 
sions when  he  thinks  he  was  so.  There  may  have 
been  times  of  affecting,  though  transient  interest.  He 
is  willing  to  persuade  himself  they  were  genuine 
emotions,  excited  by  a  principle  imparted  from  above  ; 
which  principle  he  believes,  if  really  imparted,  will 
not  be  wholly  and  finally  withdrawn,  though  its  ope- 
ration may  be  long  intermitted.  On  this  he  rests 
some  kind  of  confidence ;  instead  of  soberly  judging, 
that  emotions  so  transient,  and  subsequently  useless, 
could  be  no  more  than  superficial  effects  on  his  pas- 
sions. 

So  many  deceptive  notions  may  contribute  to  a 
vague  sort  of  assurance  that  a  man  will  not  always 
8 


82  EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED. 

neglect  religion,  though  he  is  doing  so  now,  and  is  in 
no  serious  disposition  to  do  otherwise.  In  addition  to 
all,  there  is  that  unthinking  and  unscriptural  manner 
of  considering  and  carelessly  throwing  ourselves  upon 
the  infinite  goodness  of  God. 

Thus  we  have  attempted  to  di?criminate  and  de- 
scribe some  of  the  causes  that  it  is  so  ditlicult  to  im- 
part any  interest,  or  even  draw  any  steady  attention, 
to  a  topic  so  plain,  and  trite,  and  general,  as  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  quite  in  earnest,  though  about  con- 
cerns confessedly  the  most  momentous. 


IX. 

EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED. 

I uoidd  thou  wert  cold  or  hot. — This  short  passage 
was  taken  for  the  use  of  enforcing  an  exhortation  even 
still  more  general  and  common,  though  still  less  par- 
ticular and  specific  than  that  which  would  fairly  arise 
from  the  import  and  connection  of  the  words.  Its 
most  proper  application  had  been  to  insist  on  the 
criminality,  the  peculiarly  absurd  inconsistency,  and 
the  consequences  of  indifierence  in  the  professed  serv- 
ants of  Christ;  its  dishonour  to  their  profession;  its 
offensiveness  to  their  Lord  ;  its  danger  to  themselves  ; 
— a  reference  to  their  profession  being  constantly 
made. 

But  we  were  content  to  go  on  the  wide  general 
ground,  where  all  men  may  be  met  with,  the  plain, 
serious  admonition  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  being  in 
earnest  about  their  highest  concerns.  Our  time  was 
chiefly  employed  in  attempting  to  distinguish  and  ex- 
emplity  a  number  of  things  which  contribute  to  render 
inefficacious  this  constantly  repeated  general  inculca- 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED.  83 

tion  of  so  plain  a  matter; — and  not  only  inefficacious, 
but  even  dull  and  uninteresting,  insomuch  that  mere 
attention  is  with  difficulty  gained  for  it,  except  by  aid 
of  some  special  and  subsidiary  topic. 

But  still  it  would  be  very  strange,  if  this  plain  con- 
sideration, or  fact,  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  earn- 
estness IN  RELIGION,  even  in  the  most  general  and 
accustomed  form  in  which  it  can  present  itself,  should 
be  reduced  to  take  its  rank  with  the  things  which  have 
been  repeated  till  we  mind  them  no  longer !  It  would 
be  very  strange  if  the  renewed  mention  of  such  a  mat- 
ter should  be  exactly  that  which  may  be  made  with 
the  fullest  assurance  of  not  disturbing  the  soul  into 
thought  or  emotion ;  so  that  you  may  mention  one 
thing  and  another,  and  you  will  rouse  the  spirit ; — 
mention  this,  and  it  will  sleep  !  Very  strange,  again, 
if  the  compelled  attention  to  the  fact  that  I  am  indiffer- 
ent and  careless,  should  be  quite  unavailing  to  disturb 
and  alarm  that  indifference  !  A  strong  application  of 
the  terms  that  charge  and  reprove  indifference  will 
sometimes  force  a  man  to  verify  his  own  conscious- 
ness that  he  is  indifferent, — that  it  is  not  a  vague  re- 
proach which  may  perhaps  strike  there  or  yonder  ; 
but  that  here — at  home — in  his  own  soul,  is  the  very 
thing  which  the  oracles  of  Heaven  pronounce  to  be  so 
fatal.  Yet  even  this  shall  not  break,  but  for  a  moment, 
the  dull  tranquillity !  So  that  neither  the  things 
themselves  that  should  excite  to  earnestness  can  avail, 
— nor  the  solemn  charge  and  consciousness  that  they 
do  not.  But  what  a  depth  of  depravity,  that  can  thus 
receive  and  swallow  up  such  masses  of  alarming  truth 
and  fact,  and  then  be  as  if  all  this  were  nothing ! 
How  sad,  that  for  men  to  be  awfully  wrong,  and  to  be 
admonished,  and  to  be  aware  that  they  are  so,  should 
leave  them  still  at  ease  ! 

It  is  not  that  men  are  constituted  creatures  without 
feeling.  No :  they  are  warm  through  their  whole 
being  with  affections  and  passions ;  and  an  infinite 
multiplicity  of  objects  acting  on  them.  Think  of  the 
movements  of  the  heart,  in  the  inhabitants  of  a  great 


84  EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION   ENFORCED. 

city,  during  a  single  day, — loving,  desiring,  hoping, 
hating,  fearing,  regretting !  What  an  infinity  of  emo- 
tions !  What  a  stupenduous  measure  of  active  vital- 
ity !  Now  consider, — to  these  souls  are  presented, 
among  the  other  objects  of  interest,  the  things  most 
important,  desirable,  and  terrible  in  the  universe ; 
these  things  are  placed  before  them,  and  pressed  on 
them,  as  evidently  and  as  closely  and  palpably,  as 
reason  and  revelation  can.  We  know  what  should  be 
the  effect  of  these.  We  can  think  what  it  should  be 
on  any  individual  whom  the  eye  happens  to  fix  upon, 
known  or  a  stranger.  We  can  look  on  the  passing 
traiU;  or  the  collected  crowd,  and  think  what  it  should 
be  on  each,  and  all.  What  a  measure  therefore  this 
would  be  of  a  good  spirit  in  such  an  assemblage  f 
What  is  the  effect  on  the  far  greater  number?  There 
are  abundant  indications  to  inform  you  what  it  is,  or 
rather  what  it  is  not.  And  if  the  case  be  so,  in  an  en- 
lightened and  Christian  community,  what  is  Man! 
"  What  is  Man  !"  might  be  the  compassionate  senti- 
ment of  an  angelic  beholder,  or  of  a  saint  in  heaven, 
supposing  him  in  view  of  this  object  on  earth ; — ob- 
serving a  rational  and  immortal  being,  involved  in  a 
relation  the  most  perfect,  vital,  and  inseparable  with 
all  that  is  most  important ; — the  reality  of  that  rela- 
tion manifested  to  him,  enforced  upon  him  ; — and  yet,  he 
generally  as  insensible  to  it  almost  as  a  statue  of  stone  is 
to  the  objects  surrounding  it !  But  might  not  the  com- 
passion become  mingled  with  indignation,  when  it 
should  be  observed  how  unlike  an  insensible  figure  he  is 
toward  other  objects  with  which  his  relation  is  sepa- 
rable and  transient  ?  Nevertheless  the  great  interest  is 
still  the  same  ; — bears  all  the  importance  of  eternity  up- 
on it ; — remains  as  that  sky  above  us,  with  its  lumina- 
ries and  its  solemn  and  infinite  depth,  whether  we  look 
at  it  or  not.  The  effects  must  be  continually  renewed 
for  breaking  up  this  wretched  and  pernicious  indiffer- 
ence, both  in  others  and  in  ourselves.  And  the  con- 
siderations applicable  to  this  purpose  are  innumerable, 
and  have  been  all  repeated,  times  without  number. 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED.  85 

A  more  proper  admonition  cannot  be  suggested  in 
the  first  place,  than, — to  beware  that  the  indiflerence 
of  the  feehngs  does  not  infect  and  pervert  the  judg- 
ment. In  conjunction  with  such  a  state  of  the  heart, 
it  is  in  great  danger  of  losing  its  firmness  and  correct- 
ness. How  much  more  ready  the  judgment  is  to  take 
its  character  from  the  feelings,  than  they  theirs  from  it ! 
Without  any  reproach  to  any  thing  like  a  formal  de- 
nial of  the  supreme  importance  of  the  spiritual  and  fu- 
ture interests,  there  may  be  an  influence  insidiously 
stealing  through  the  estimatesof  the  judgment,  so  that 
they  shall  be  modified  insensibly — less  decisively  mark 
ed,  less  positively  pronounced.  This  may  bebya  gradu- 
al effect,  without  special  thoughts  and  reasonings.  Or 
with  the  occasional  intervention  of  thoughts  such  as 
this  ; — "  Surely  man  is  not  placed  in  a  scene  that  he  be- 
holds, for  the  purpose  chiefly  of  looking  toward  one  that 
he  cannot  see.  Can  it  be  that  I  am  sent  into  this  busy 
and  interesting  world,  that  my  main  business  maybe  to 
think  about  going  out  of  it.  What !  am  I  here  to  make 
nothing  of  all  this  ?  Under  a  reversed  economy,  have 
I  most  to  do  with  what  is  furthest  off? — There  is  so 
much  that  I  must  attend  to  here  ; — must  in  duty  occu- 
py my  thoughts,  cares,  and  time  with,  that  it  were 
hard  there  should  be  another  great  exaction  and  bur- 
den continually  upon  me.  I  acknowledge  the  great 
importance  of  that  other  concern  ;  but  may  I  not  hope 
that  the  merciful  Creator  will  take  care  of  that  for  me  ?" 
So  the  judgment  may  be  partly  perverted  to  excuse 
the  indifference.  Let  us  beware  of  this  seduction.  As 
far  as  the  judgment  falls  into  conformity  with  wrong 
feelings,  it  is  in  vain  to  appeal  to  conscience  ;  it  retires 
under  the  protection  of  the  judgment.  Thus  the  soul 
is  left  deserted  to  the  power  of  its  perverse  and  irreli- 
gous  dispositions. 

But  let  there  be  a  settled  conviction  on  the  mind) 
not  equivocated  with,  though  unhappily  too  dormant 
and  inoperative,  that  the  spiritual  and  immortal  inter- 
ests really  do  demand  earnest  attention,  and  then  a 
train  of  remonstrances  aorainst  indifference  and  care- 
§♦ 


86 


EARNESTNESi IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED. 


lessness  may  be  urijed  on  that  mind.  It  may  be  urg-ed 
on  such  a  man, — Will  you  not,  can  you  not  resolve  to 
converse  with  your  own  spirit  sometimes?  You  can 
speak  freely,  and  hear  patiently,  there.  If  it  be  a  mor- 
tifying converse,  there  is  none  to  overhear  it,  but  One  1 
and  your  self-love  will  be  sure  to  survive  unhurt.  You 
can  say  to  yourself,  "  It  is  really  thus  and  thus  that  I 
firmly  believe, — and  shall  believe,  in  life,  death,  and  to 
all  eternity.  But  then  here  in  my  soul  is  the  most  as- 
tonishing inconsistency  and  contradiction — not  a  more 
dreadthl  one  in  the  creation; — dreadful,  for  it  is  a  prac- 
tical one,  in  the  very  highest  concern  of  a  created  be- 
ing. The  consequences  of  its  continuance  are  plain 
before  me,  inevitable  and  terrible.  And  am  I  quietly 
to  go  on  thus,  thinking  as  little  as  I  can  about  it  ?  Do 
I  coolly  consent  that  it  shall  be  so,  for  the  present  at 
least,  and  for  I  know  not  how  long?" 

Let  him  consider,  and  say — "  There  they  stand  be- 
fore me,  not  in  a  deceptive  vision,  but  in  an  absolute 
reality,  the  most  important  things  that  can  be  in  the 
view  of  any  being  on  this  globe,  or  that  has  left  it — 
the  Redeemer  of  man — sal  cation — pei^dilion — death — 
judgment — eternity  !  They  stand  confronting  me,  that 
there  may  be  in  me  something  corresponding  to  them. 
It  is  in  the  presence  of  God  that  I  thus  stand  with 
these  most  awful  objects  before  me;  it  is  by  his  light 
that  I  see  them  ;  it  is  his  authority,  in  its  utmost  ful- 
ness, that  insists  on  their  demand  of  a  corresponding 
state  of  my  mind  ;  it  is  his  voice  that  pronounces  me 
lost,  if  that  answerable  state  be  not  here.  And  yet,  la 
it  the  fact,  that  I  am  indifferent  still  ?  Here  is  the 
soul  that  can  acknowledge  all  this,  and  still  not  trem- 
ble, nor  care,  nor  strive,  nor  pray  !  can  be  at  liberty 
for  any  pursuit,  or  gayety,  or  amusement!" — One 
could  almost  imagine,  that  realizing  such  a  state  of 
things  in  a  man's  own  soul,  might  produce  an  amaze- 
ment enough  to  suspend  for  a  while  even  the  sense  of 
personal  interest ;  that  a  man  might  be  absorbed 
awhile  before  he  came  again  to  the  consciousness  of 
being  himself  the  subject;  as  we  should  look  at  some 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED.  87 

strange  and  dreadful  phenomenon  in  the  natural  world. 
In  truth,  there  is  no  phenomenon  in  that  world  so  por- 
tentous ! 

In  such  a  condition,  sensibly  so,  in  a  measure,  men 
can  give  their  attention  and  activity  to  all  manner  of 
interests  and  pursuits, — many  very  trifling  ones.  But 
the  remonstrance  should  follow  them  still.  Recollect 
what  it  is  that  you  are  warmly  pursuing  this^  to  the 
neglect  of,  and  in  preference  to  !  Cannot  you  rise  to 
the  resolution  of  saying  deliberately,  "  Why  should 
this  take  the  precedence,  ichy  7  Is  there  one  moment 
in  which  I  seriously  approve  its  doing  so  ?  Will  there 
ever  be  such  a  moment?  and  if  there  should  ! — Is  not 
this  my  preference  made  on  the  very  principle  that 
creates  all  the  evil  and  misery  in  the  universe  !  Is  it  not 
a  perversity  of  will  inclined  to  the  worse  ?  Do  I  not 
know  that  I  am  giving  this  the  preference  by  the  neg- 
lect of  an  interest  infinite  millions  of  times  more  impor- 
tant ?  Am  I  then  an  immortal,  under  some  dreadful 
charm  and  curse,  that  dooms  me  to  live  but  Ibr  the 
hour,  or  the  day,  or  the  few  uncertain  days  of  this  my 
abode,  in  the  dust, — unable  to  go  forth  in  a  capacious 
apprehension  of  the  great  hereafter  ?  Or  when  shall 
the  case  cease  to  be  thus  ?"  If  his  mind  answer  eva- 
sively,  "Not  always  will  it  be  thus,  I  hope — not  long — 
perhaps  not  to-morrow."  Have  you  then,  it  might  be 
said  to  him,  such  easy  faith  ?  Do  you  adhere  for  the 
present^  to  your  preference,  on  a  calculation  o^  disgust- 
ing yourself  at  length  with  what  you  prefer  ?  that  at 
the  next  turn,  the  right  preference  may  be  the  easier? 
But  why  has  the  preceding  train  of  your  wrong  pre- 
ferences done  so  little  to  disgust,  or  satiate,  or  change 
you? 

Or  if  we  shall  suppose  that  there  is  often  a  certain 
degree  jof  disgust  and  recoil ; — that  a  sense  of  the  vani- 
ty and  insufficiency  of  things  is  forced  on  the  soul ; — 
that  the  heart  cannot  find  the  living  element  it  longs 
for,  in  any  of  these  terrestrial  things  ;  so  that  the  ac- 
tive spirit,  for  a  while,  remits,  in  disappointment,  and  is 
reduced  to  stand  detached  and  retired.     This  should 


88  EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED. 

be  well ;  but  what  is  the  consequence  ?  Alas  I  loo 
often,  it  but  reverts  awhile  in  a  gloomy  mood  to  recover 
and  look  out  to  sec  where  it  may  try  again  !  There  is  no 
look  toward  heaven,  except  perhaps,  for  a  moment,  in 
something  like  an  emotion  of  revenge  upon  the  earth  ; 
let  another  delusive  gleam  of  the  world's  sunshine 
come,  and  that  emotion  passes  away  ! 

But  these  seasons  of  dissatisfaction  and  recoil,  this 
sickness  of  the  heart,  experienced  in  the  exclusive  pur- 
suit of  inferior  interests,  might  be  seized  upon  by  the 
Christian  admonisher.  He  would  say, — "Acknow- 
ledge that  at  these  seasons  you  are  in  truth  struck  and 
troubled  by  a  power  from  the  other  world,  whether 
distinctly  recognized  or  not ; — an  obscure  and  suppres- 
sed sympathy  with  the  true  cause  of  happiness.  There 
is  a  certain  sense  of  an  infinitely  greater  interest  neg- 
lected. Consider  those  who  are  earnestly  intent  on 
the  higher  object,  are  they  subject  to  these  seasons  of 
mortifying  recoil  from  them  ?  Have  they  a  forced  per- 
ception of  their  vanity  ?  Are  they  almost  ashamed  of 
them?  Does  there  not  come  upon  you  sometimes  an 
irresistible  conviction  that  if  you  had  long  suice  become 
animated  with  the  spirit  of  the  religion  of  Christ, 
it  would  have  been  infinitely  the  best  and  happiest 
thing  that  could  have  befallen  you  ?  Has  not  this  con- 
viction prompted  you  to  exclaim,  '  What  a  course  of 
happy  feeling  and  estimable  life  it  would  have  been, 
as  compared  with  my  past  existence  !  One  little  stage 
of  it  would  have  been  of  more  worth  than  all  these 
long  vain  years  have  been.  I  should  have  walked 
with  God  thus  far,  and  with  his  saints  and  angels.'  " 
There  are  at  least  some  who  are  visited  by  such  reflec- 
tions. But,  we  say, — What,  then,  now  ?  Will  you 
make  this  past^  which  you  are  compelled  to  condemn 
and  deplore,  the  very  precedent  and  pattern  for  what 
is  to  come  ?  Would  it  not  be  the  very  worst  eff'ect  of 
all,  from  this  misapplied  past,  if  it  make  you  careless 
of  the  present  and  future?  if  it  chain  you  to  a  fatal 
consistency  ?  It  is  enough  for  you  that  that  past  has 
lost  itself!    When  this  present  too  shall  have  become 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED.  89 

past,  and  lost,  will  it  appear  a  good  reason,  that  the 
preceding  periods  of  life  were  so?  This  time  that  is 
here,  and  that  is  coming  on,  lies  between  on  the  one 

hand,  a  trifled-away  portion  of  your  existence, and 

the  most  grand  and  awful  portion  of  it  on  the  other ! 
Now  think  and  choose  in  the  presence  of  God,  shall  it 
be  conformed  to  the  character  of  the  former  or  of  the 
latter  ?  Consider,  wherein  would  it  have  been  so  good, 
so  happy  a  thing,  that  through  preceding  life  you  had 
been  in  earnest  about  the  one  thing  needful  ?  wherein, 
but  chiefly  in  the  manner  in  which  it  would  have  been 
carrying  you  forward  towards  the  Great  Futurity ! 
But  you  are  going  toward  that  same  Futurity  !  it  is 
the  one  constant  inevitable  action  of  life ; — your  pro- 
gress is  not  turning  another  way  than  in  the  former 
stages  ;  it  has  no  reversed  or  circuitous  movement ; — 
it  is  direct,  and  think  how  rapid  !  Every  step  seems  to 
belong  more  to  that  awful  futurity  and  its  realities, 
than  the  preceding ;  by  the  same  rule  that  the  last 
step,  which  is  to  be  into  eternity,  appears  to  have  a 
transcendent  importance, — so  in  proportion  all  that  are 
approximating  to  it.  Now  if  you  allow  that  in  regard 
to  that  Futurity,  it  would  have  been  so  happy,  that  the 
progress  hitherto  had  been  in  the  earnest  spirit  of  a 
Christian,  what  do  you  think  of  the  remaining  pro- 
gress from  this  point,  with  the  realities  in  prospect  ris- 
ing higher  and  larger,  and  more  majestic  above  the 
horizon  of  your  view  ?  Consider  too,  that  whatever 
the  world  and  time  could  have  given  you  from  the  first, 
they  can  at  all  events  give  you  much  less  now,  and 
what  is  sooner  to  be  taken  away. 

When,  and  hy  what,  shall  this  sad  indiSerence  be 
broken  up  and  leave  you?  Would  you  quietly  wait 
for  some  alarming  dispensation  of  Providence  to  do 
it?  to  be  admonished  as  Pharaoh  was  in  vain? 
Would  you  wait  till  some  heavy  affliction  ?  till  some 
disaster  in  your  worldly  affairs  ?  till  another  dear  rela- 
tive or  friend  shall  die  ?  till  a  severe  sickness,  with  im- 
minent threatenings  of  death  ?  Can  you  be  content  to 
wait  for  such  visitations  ?  and  with  the  perfect  cer- 


90  EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED. 

tainiy  that,  if  they  should  come,  and  should  eflfectually 
alarm  you  out  of  this  indifference,  that  alarm  will  be 
mingled  with  an  aggravated  remorse,  and  indeed  will 
very  much  consist  of  it?  remorse  especially  to  think 
that  "  the  goodness  of  God  "  has  not  "  led  to  repent- 
ance ?" 

But  have  no  such  visitations  come  to  you  already  ? 
What  was  their  efi'ect?  Are  you  to  be  so  much  more 
sensible  to  the  impressions  of  the  next  ?  or  do  you  wish 
them  to  be  ten-fold  more  severe  ?  If  you  can  wish  so, 
the  interest  for  which  you  wish  so,  must  be  most  ur- 
gent !  But  if  it  be  so  urgent,  why  neglected  now  7 
Consider  besides,  that  the  next  severe  visitation  may 
be  the  last  of  life  ; — may  be  a  fatal  disaster  ; — may  be 
a  mortal  illness !  Or  would  you  wait  for  old  age  ? 
What!  because  it  is  confessedly  a  great  moral  miracle 
for  a  man  careless  till  old  age,  to  be  awakened  then  ! 
Or  will  a  man  profane  a  Christian  doctrine,  and  say, 
the  Spirit  of  God  alone  can  be  efficacious,  and  he  must 
quietly  wait  for  that?  This  is  saying  in  etfect,  that 
he  will  make  a  trial  with  Omnipotence,  and  resist  as 
long  as  he  can!  How  can  he  anticipate  any  other 
than  a  destructive  energy  from  that  Spirit  upon  him, 
while  he  is  trifling  with,  and  frustrating  truth — convic- 
tion-i-warnings — and  emotions  of  conscience  !  while 
he  is  repelling  all  these  minor  operations  of  that  Spirit, 
instead  of  earnestly  praying  for  the  greater  !  It  were 
most  wicked  thus  to  pretend  a  reverence  for  the  ulti- 
mate powers  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  at  the  same 
time  make  light  of  what  comes  from  that  Spirit  already. 

How  dreadfully  obstinate  a  state  is  this  careless 
indifference  !  But  nevertheless  we  can  imagine  situa- 
tions under  the  force  of  which  it  must  give  way! 
Imagine  them  !  but  that  is  not  all : — we  are  certain  to 
be  in  one  or  other  of  them,  sometime!  Happy  will  it 
be,  if  the  love  of  Christ  shall  effectually  constrain  us; 
— if  there  be  a  prevailing  impression  that  our  affec- 
tions and  powers  are  due  to  him ;  that  we  must  do 
something  for  him,  and  his  great  cause,  while  we  are 
on  earth.     Happy !  if  an  ardent  desire  of  heaven ; — 


EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION  ENFORCED.  91 

happy !  even  if  the  thought  of  the  ''terrors  of  the  Lord," 
should  contribute  to  persuade  us !  But  though  all 
these  should  fail,  and  leave  us  indifferent  still,  there 
will  be  in  reserve,  that  which  cannot  fail, — situations 
and  circumstances  of  irresistible  power!  Can  a  man 
calmly  refer  himself  to  these  !  Can  a  man  say,  "I 
know  I  must  awake  from  this  indifference  at  last — I 

will  indulge  it  till  then  /" "Here  is  a  dull,  stupid 

state  of  soul,  but  there  will  be  blows  upon  it  so  mighty 

as  to  make  it  c[uiver  with  the  intensest  feeling  !" "I 

am  making  light  o^  anticipations  ;— well,  the  realities 
w^ill  come  !" '■'■'■  Here  I  am,  easily  soothing  my  con- 
science ; — it  is  but  that  it  may  rise  upon  me  wiih  tre- 
mendous strength!" "Now  I  am  lightly  dismiss- 
ing, or  evading  a  solemn  and  alarming  reflection ; — 
it  goes  away  but  to  come  back  as  if  transformed  into 

an  avenging  spirit !" "I  am  dissipating  my  mind 

among  trifles, — be  it  so, — a  tempest  will  arise  which 

will  blast  them  all  away !  " ''I  am  now  but  in  order 

to  what  I  shall  be  then;  what  I  shall  be  then  will 
remind  me  of  what  I  am  now  /" — Such  a  man  can  now 
put  in  words  some  of  the  sentiments,  the  reflections, 
the  emotions  which  his  earnestness  may  breathe  itself 
in.  in  the  hour  of  death.  Let  him  do  it;  and  then  say 
whether  there  be  any  thing  possible  or  conceiveable 
in  this  world  that  he  should  be  so  anxious  for,  as  that 
he  may  not  so  be  in  earnest  at  that  hour.  This  is  the 
appeal  io^  Fear ^  a  just  and  salutary  appeal ;  but  think 
how  strange  it  is,  that  it  should  be  necessary  to  lay 
the  emphasis  here  ;  when  that  which  the  soul  is  called 
and  excited  to  be  in  earnest  for,  is  an  injinite  good  ! — 
deliverence  from  all  evil — salvation — eternal  blessed- 
ness !  Here  are  objects  of  mightiest  attraction  for  the 
better  passions,  and  yet  it  is  necessary  to  work  by 
fear !  as  if  mere  escape,  and  impunity,  and  safety,  were 
all !  as  if  it  were  no  good  for  ourselves,  and  only  to 
please  or  pacify  a  power  to  which  we  are  in  subjection ! 
What  a  manifestation  of  the  fallen  state  of  our  nature ! 
Let  us  beware  of  the  delusive  feeling  as  if  indiffer- 
ence, however  prolonged,  had  still  nothing  in  it  of  the 


92      COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW. 

nature  of  a  decision;  as  if  it  were  but  remaining  in  a 
kind  of  suspension  and  protracted  equipoise.  Are  we 
insensible  tliat  an  additional  weight  is  falling  all  the 
while  on  the  other  side,  by  mere  time  itself  which  is 
going,  particle  by  particle,  to  the  wrong ; —  by  irreli- 
gious habit,  which  is  growing  stronger  and  stronger  ; 
— and  by  negation,  refusal,  all  the  while,  of  what  is 
claimed  by  the  higher  interest !  We  decide  against 
that  which  we  refuse  to  adopt.  So  that  prolonged 
indifference  is  decision  so  far  ;  and  indifference  to  the 
<end  will  but  he  decision  completed  ! 


COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW. 

"  Thy  commandment  is  exceeding  hroadP — The 
first  view  of  the  relation  between  God  and  all  other  be- 
ings, is  that  of  His  being  their  Creator.  The  next  view 
of  the  relation  is  that  which  manifests  him  as  a  Law- 
giver. By  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  this  must  be  an 
essential  part  of  the  relation.  No  right  so  absolute,  to 
give  laws,  can  be  conceived,  as  that  of  the  Creator. 
For  he  is  nesessarily  the  Supreme  being.  He  has  a 
perfect  and  exclusive  properly  in  what  he  has  created. 
All  created  being  is  entirely  dependent  on  him,  for  be- 
ing and  well-being.  He  alone  can  have  a  perfect  un- 
derstanding of  what  is  the  right  state,  and  the  riglit 
procedure  of  created  beings ;  they  cannot  understand 
themselves,  and  therefore  could  not,  if  they  would,  de- 
vise competent  laws.  He  alone  has  the  power  to  en- 
force a  system  of  laws  over  the  whole  creation.  The 
mention  of  the  "whole  creation  "  may  suggest  one  ap- 
plication of  the  terms, — the  amazing  extent  of  the 
scene  of  his  legislation !     In  all  probability  there  are 


COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW.       93 

worlds,  with  intelligent  inhabitants,  extending  beyond 
all  conceivable  number,  and  dimension  of  space  ;  and 
One  Dictator  of  laws, — of  commands, — to  them  all  ! 
But,  think  of  one  world,  only, — our  own,  in  this  sense 
of  "  exceeding  broad." 

But  doubtless,  not  the  wide  compass  of  the  scene  and 
subjects,  is  meant,  but  the  quality  of  the  law,  as  imper- 
ative on  man ;  its  authority  and  requirement  applied 
to  so  many  points  ;  the  comprehensiveness,  the  univer- 
sality of  its  jurisdiction.  It  reaches  and  comprehende 
the  whole  extent  of  all  things,  in  which  there  is  the 
distinction  of  right  and  wrong — good  and  evil.  Now 
then  think' of  the  almost  infinite  multiplicity  of  things 
in  which  this  distinction  has  a  place  ;  the  grand  total 
of  what  is  passing, — in  men's  minds,  converse,  and  ac- 
tion— is  passing  at  this  hour — has  been  in  the  course 
of  the  day — during  the  whole  course  of  life  of  each  and 
all.  Think  how  much — how  little — of  all  this  can  justly 
be  considered  as  withdrawn  from  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
divine  authority  and  law.  A  wide  rain,  or  the  beams 
of  the  sun,  hardly  fall  on  a  greater  multitude  and  di- 
versity of  things. 

Now,  an  intelligent  creature  in  a  right  state, — that 
is,  a  holy  state,  in  harmony  with  God,  would  be  deeply 
pleased,  that  all  things  should  be  thus  marked  with  a 
signification  of  his  will.  For  how  happy  to  be  in  all 
things  at  the  direction  of  the  Supreme  Wisdom  ! — in 
all  things  made  clearly  aware  what  is  conformity  to  the 
Divine  Excellence;  insomuch  that, — if  the  case  could 
be  supposed,  of  any  thing  of  material  interest  being 
left  without  this  mark  of  the  divine  will,  under  an 
echpse  of  the  fight  from  God,  that  would,  to  such  a 
spirit,  appear  as  something  distressing,  and  fearful  and 
portentous, — would  be  felt  as  threatening  some  inde- 
finable hazard.  To  a  being  possessed  and  filled  with 
the  reverential  love  of  God,  it  would  be  a  most  ac- 
ceptable and  welcome  thing  that  thus  it  should  be 
made  manifest  in  all  things  what  is  his  pleasure  ; — 
that  the  whole  field  of  existence  and  action  should  bear, 
all  over  it,  the  decided  and  precise  delineations,  as  on 
9 


94     COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW. 

a  map,  of  the  ways  which  his  creatures  are  to  take. 
Should  it  not  be  so  ?— Must  it  not  be  so  to  an  uncor- 
rupted  and  holy  creature  of  God  1  But  is  it  so  to  the 
general  spirit  of  mankind?  is  it  so  naturally  to  any  of 
3iem  ?  No, — it  is  not  a  welcome  thing  that  the  '•  com- 
mandment," the  law  of  God  is  so  "  exceeding  broad." 
Accordingly,  its  breadth  is,  in  every  imaginable  way, 
endeavoured  to  be  narrowed.  It  is  true,  that  even  the 
very  apprehension  of  it  is  very  limited  and  faint.  If 
the  dulness  and  contractedness  of  apprehension  could 
be  set  aside  for  an  interval,  and  a  palpable,  luminous 
manifestation  made  of  the  vast  compass,  and  the  whole 
order  of  distinctions  of  this  divine  law,  it  would  strike 
as  ten  times, — a  hundred  times,  beyond  all  that  had 
been  suspected.  Yet  still,  in  multitudes  of  minds, 
there  is  apprehension  enough  of  such  a  widely-ex- 
tended law,  to  cause  disquietude,  to  excite  reaction,  and 
a  recourse  to  any  thing  that  will  seem  to  narrow  that 
law. 

We  might  notice  several  expedients  and  aiding 
causes,  for  this  effect  of  contracting  and  reducing  the 
extent  and  magnitude  of  the  divine  law.  The  bold, 
direct,  decisive  one,  is— infidelity ;  to  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Supreme  Lawgiver  himself.  Then  the 
Sovereign  Voice  is  silent.  Then  the  destruction  of  the 
divine  law  takes  place,  as  it  were,  from  the  centre  in- 
stead of  by  a  contraction  of  its  wide  extension.  Then 
all  things  are  right  which  men  wish,  and  can,  and  dare 
do  ;  right,  as  to  any  concern  of  conscience, — the  prac- 
tical regulations  which  atheists  would  feel  the  neces-' 
sity  for,  would  be  only  a  matter  of  pohcy  and  mutual 
self-defence. 

To  reject  a  revelation  is  an  expedient  little  less  sum 
mary  and  effectual  for  the  purpose.  A  God  believed, 
or  supposed, — but  making  no  declaration  of  his  will, 
and  the  retribution,  would  give  very  little  disturbance 
to  sinners.  For  as  to  what  has  been  termed  natural 
religion, — though  a  fine  systematic  theory  may  be 
framed,  it  is,  for  any  thing  like  practical  effect,  no  more 
^an  a  dream.    It  was  so  among  the  bulk  of  the  cuiti- 


COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW.      95 

vated  heathens ;  and  now  the  rejecters  of  revelation 
would  be  sure  not  to  allow  themselves  to  be  defrauded 
of  their  advantage,  by  admitting  any  thing  more  than 
they  liked  of  the  rules  or  authority  of  natural  religion. 
Bui  not  to  dwell  on  the  express  and  formal  rejection 
of  the  divine  law,  but  suppose  it  admitted  in  the 
ordinary  way  as  among  the  generality  in  a  Christian 
nation,  there  are  many  things  to  frustrate  its  quality  of 
"exceeding  broad." 

We  hardly  need  say  how  effectually  this  is  done  by 
the  indulgence  of  sin,  in  action,  or  though  but  in  the 
heart  It  is  by  the  understanding  and  the  conscience 
that  the  divine  law  is  to  be  apprehended  in  its  ampli- 
tude. Now  nothing  is  more  notorious  than  the  bane- 
ful effect  which  indulged  and  practised  sin  has  on  both 
these.  It  inflicts  a  grossness  on  the  understanding, 
which  renders  it  totally  unadapted  to  take  cognizance 
of  any  thing  that  is  to  be  "  spiritually  discerned  ;"  as 
unadapted  as  our  bodily  senses  are  to  perceive  spirits. 
It  throws  a  thick  obscurity  over  the  whole  vision  of  the 
divine  law,  so  that  nothing  of  it  is  distinctly  perceived, 
except  when  sometimes  some  part  of  it  breaks  out  in 
thunder.  The  conscience  partakes  the  stupefaction ; 
is  insensible  to  a  thousand  accusations  and  menaces  of 
the  divine  law,  every  one  of  which  ought  to  have  been 
pungent  and  painful. 

The  general  operation  of  self-love  in  a  corrupted  be- 
ing, is  adverse  to  any  clear  and  effectual  acknowledg- 
ment of  "the  exceeding  breadth"  of  the  divine  law.  The 
being  has  a  certain  sense  of  not  being  in  a  state  of  peace 
and  harmony  with  God,  but  of  alienation,  opposition, 
and  in  a  degree,  hostility;  but  still  devotedly  loves  itself. 
It  has  therefore  a  set  of  self-defensive  feelings  against 
him.  But  since  it  could  not  defend  itself  against  his 
power,  it  endeavors  to  defend  itself  against  his  law.  It 
ventures  to  question  the  necessity  or  propriety  of  one 
point  of  his  law ;— refuses  to  admit  the  plain  interpreta- 
tion of  another — or  to  admit  the  clear  inferences  from 
undeniable  rules.  It  makes  large  portions  of  the  divine 
laws  refer  to  other  men  and  times ;  to  special  and  tran- 


96     COMPREHENSIVEiNESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW. 

sient  occasions  and  circumstances  ;  is  ingenious  in  in- 
venting exemptions  for  itself;  weakens  the  force  of 
both  the  meaning  and  the  authority  of  the  divine  dic- 
tates, which  it  cannot  avert  from  their  apphcation  to 
itself.  Thus  it  "  renders  void  "  much  of  both  the  spirit 
and  the  letter  ;  and  thus  places  itselfamidst  a  dwindled 
and  falsified  system  of  the  divine  legislation. 

Add  to  this  the  influence  of  the  customs  and  maxims 
of  the  world.  For  a  moment,  suppose  these  admitted 
to  constitute  the  supreme  law  and  standard.  Let  all 
tiiat  these  adjudge  superfluous,  be  left  out  and  reject- 
ed ;  all  that  these  account  indifferent,  be  set  down  so  ; — 
all  that  these  warrant  by  practice,  be  formally  sanc- 
tioned; all  that  these  pronounce  honourable  and  ad- 
mirable, be  inscribed  in  golden  letters  ;  all  that  these 
have  settled  as  true  wisdom,  be  adopted  as  principles 
and  oracles.  Especially,  let  what  the  customs  and 
notions  of  the  world  have  mainly  satisfied  themselves 
with  in  respect  to  religion  be  admitted,  as  the  true 
scheme  of  our  relations  and  duties  to  God.  This  sys- 
tem now ! — Let  it  be  placed  opposite  to  the  divine 
law  !  Would  it  not  be  like  Baal's  prophets  confront- 
ing Elijah?  like  Satan  propounding  doctrine  to  our 
Lord  ?  like  a  holy  angel  and  a  devil  looking  in  each 
other's  face  ?  But,  think  ! — this  is  actually  the  system 
on  which  the  notions  and  habits  of  the  multitude  are 
formed !  Thus  the  divine  law,  in  its  exceeding  breadth, 
is  made,  as  it  is  said  of  the  heavens,  to  '-depart  as  a 
scroll  that  is  rolled  together." 

But  short  of  BO  decidedly  antichristian  a  standard, 
there  is  among  us  a  great  deal  of  an  accommodating 
way  of  thinking  of  ihe  divine  law;  an  unsound  and 
treacherous  casuistry  ;  a  sort  of  middle  principles,  by 
which  those  of  divine  authority  are  altered,  and  quali- 
fied, and  shaped,  to  suit  better  to  the  habits  of  the  world, 
and  the  temper  of  the  times ; — a  defective  faith  in  our 
Lord's  declaration — "  no  man  can  serve  two  masters." 

Another  thing  by  which  the  "  exceeding  breadth  " 
of  the  divine  law  is  narrowed,  as  to  its  acknowledg- 
ment and  application,  is  a  notion  and  a  feeling  as  if— 


COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW.        97 

man  being  so  very  imperfect  a  creature,  it  cannot  be 
that  there  is  an  absolutely  perfect  law  in  authority 
over  him.  It  is  impossible  for  him  to  meet  such  a  law 
in  full  conformity,  and  therefore  it  is  a  moderate  and 
more  indulgent  one  that  he  is  responsible  to.  But 
where  is  there  any  declaration  of  such  a  law?  What 
can  the  idea  really  mean,  but  a  tolerance  and  approval 
of  something  that  is  evil?  Something  different  from 
that  which  is  perfect — less  than — what  can  this  be  but 
evil  ?  Shall  there  be  a  law  from  the  holy  God  to 
sanction  evil,  because  man  is  evil  ? 

Worse,  if  possible,  than  all  these  modes  of  making 
void  the  law,  is  that  which  attempts  to  do  it  on  the  plea 
of  grace;  which  pretends  to  absolve  Christians  from 
the  claims  of  the  sovereign  rule,  because  their  justifi- 
cation is  on  an  entirely  different  ground.  So  that 
they  stand  as  independent  of  the  law,  as  he  is  who  ap- 
pointed it.  There  are  different  degrees  in  which  this 
odious  heresy  is  made  a  practical  principle.  A  spirit 
truly  renewed  through  divine  grace,  becomes  an  em- 
phatic approver  of  the  law.  It  is  a  reflection  of  the 
character  of  him  whom  he  adores,  and  wishes  to  re- 
semble. 

Such  are  the  expedients,  and  modes,  and  operations 
of  depravity  to  frustrate  "  the  commandment."  But 
let  us  solemnly  consider,  that  all  the  while,  and  after 
all,  that  divine  law  remains  in  its  exceeding  breadth. 
Then  what  should  a  man  gain,  though  he  could  keep 
it  out  of  sight — delude  and  please  himself  with  a  di- 
minished conception  of  it, — through  his  whole  life  on 
earth?  Since  he  must  go  out  of  the  world  to  meet 
him  that  has  appointed  it,  and  never  abrogated  or 
changed  it,  "  not  one  jot  or  tittle."  There  too  he  will 
meet  it,  this  law  itself,  resplendent  in  eternity. 

"  Exceeding  broad."  It  is  so,  by  the  comprehen- 
sive applicableness  of  its  grand  simple  rules.  ''  Thou 
shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and 
soul,  and  strength,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself."  It 
is  so  by  the  ample  order  of  its  special  injunctions. 
Where  is  there  a  spot  without  a  signal  of  the  divine 
9* 


98      COMPREHENSIVENESS  OF  THE  DIVINE  LAW. 

will  ?  It  is  so,  by  laying  an  authoritative  hand  on 
the  first  principles  and  origin  from  which  any  thing 
can  proceed,  in  human  spirit  and  action ;  tlien  it 
reaches  to  all  things  that  do  or  can  proceed  thence. 
It  asserts  a  jurisdiction  over  all  thought  and  inward 
affection.  AH  language  is  uttered  under  this  same 
jurisdiction.  All  that  the  world  and  each  man  are  in 
action  about.  Even  over  what  is  not  done,  it  main- 
tains its  authority,  and  pronounces  its  dictates  and 
judgments.  It  is  a  positive  thing  with  respect  to  what 
is  negative,  omission,  non-existence.  Like  the  divine 
government  in  the  material  world,  over  the  wastes, 
deserts,  and  barren  sands.  From  these  spaces  of 
nothing,  it  can  raise  up  substantial  tbrms  of  evil,  of 
ein,  in  evidence  against  men.  As  at  the  resurrection 
men  will  rise  from  empty  wastes,  where  it  would  not 
have  been  suspected  that  any  were  concealed.  Let  a 
man  look  back  on  all  his  omissions,  and  think  what  the 
divine  law  can  raise  from  them  against  him.  Thus 
the  law,  in  its  exceeding  breadth,  is  vacant  nowhere  ; 
it  is  not  stretched  to  this  wide  extent  by  chasms  and 
void  spaces.  If  a  man  could  find  one  such,  he  might 
there  take  his  position  for  sin  with  impunity,  if  not 
with  innocence. 

But  to  realize  all  this  to  the  heart  and  conscience, 
what  seriousness  of  thought  is  necessary !  What  of 
all  this  will  be  visible  to  a  careless,  thoughtless  spirit  ? 
How  necessary  spiritual  discernment  imparted,  main- 
tained, and  increased,  by  divine  instruction  and  influ- 
ence !  This  brings,  as  it  were,  a  new  element  into  the 
creation  around  us.  When  this  is  given  to  one  that 
had  been  a  stupid,  insensible  sinner,  what  a  manifesta- 
tion, what  a  vision  there  becomes  apparent  to  him  of 
the  divine  law ! 

An  inference -from  such  representations  plainly  is, 
that  great  self-complacency  is  a  treacherous,  deluded, 
and  dangerous  state. 

If  such  be  the  law,  how  impossible  is  human  salva- 
tion by  it !  Let  man  be  brought  before  it  in  judgment, 
under  the  conditionj  "  cursed  is  every  one  that  continu- 


SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE,  ETC.  99 

eth  not  in  all  things  which  are  written  in  the  book  of 
the  law,  to  do  them."  He  must  not  shrink  from  this 
view,  who  is  really  in  earnest  to  be  saved.  One  more 
just  and  natural  consequence  will  be, — a  perfect  hor- 
ror of  taking  any  ground  at  all  hke  this  for  acceptance 
before  God.  We  need  not  fear  to  assert,  that,  with 
such  a  view  of  the  law,  and  man  being  such  as  he  is,  it 
would  have  been  very  difficult  to  believe  even  a  revela- 
tion of  divine  mercy,  which  should  profess  to  take 
effect  on  the  ground  of  the  law  or  not  on  any  other 
ground.  A  strong  doubt  and  question  would  have 
arisen  :  "  How  can  the  holy  God  so  set  aside  his  law  ? 
Why  did  he  appoint  it?  Is  it  not  absolutely  just  and 
good  ?  Will  it  comport  with  holiness  to  suffer  a  vast 
and  general  violation  of  it,  defiance  of  it,  by  our  race, 
and  no  dreadful  and  penal  consequences  follow — pro- 
vided men  should  be  willing  to  be  pardoned  by  him, — 
and  be  somewhat  sorry  for  their  having  set  his  law 
at  nought?" 

Therefore,  the  rational  theory  w^ould  be. — that  if 
God  would  extend  mercy  and  salvation  to  so  guilty  a 
race,  it  would  much  more  probably  be  on  the  ground 
of  some  quite  different  economy.  And  therefore, — a 
revelation  of  something  purporting  to  be  such  a  quite 
different  economy,  would  beforehand  have  every  prob- 
abihty  in  its  favour,  as  compared  with  any  plan  which 
should  retain  the  law  as  the  foundation.  The  plan  by 
the  law  was  evidently  an  utterly  ruined  plan ;  it  could 
not  save  one  ;  it  could  only  condemn  to  perish.  If  men 
were  to  be  saved,  and  still  upon  the  original  economy, 
it  was  to  be  independently  of  the  law,  and  in  opposi- 
tion to  it.  But,  independently,  and  in  opposition ! ! — 
Who  would  make  them  independent?  Who  would 
bear  them  harmless  in  that  opposition  ?  If  the  divine 
goodness  in  the  form  of  mercy  would  do  it, — what 
became  of  the  divine  goodness  in  the  form  of  right- 
eousness ?  Should  the  rebellious  creatures  utterly  vio- 
late and  demolish  the  economy  of  justice,  and  come 
triumphant  out  of  its  ruin  as  having  forced  the  supreme 
Governor  to  the  bare  expedient  of  mercy  ? 


100  SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE 

All  this  gives  beforehand  a  high  and  rational  prob- 
abability  to  the  new  economy,  constituted  in  the  Medi- 
ator; acceptance,  justification,  salvation — solely  and 
entirely  through  the  work  and  sacrifice  of  Jesu.-?  Christ. 
The  believing,  grateful  accepters  of  this  economy  will 
see  the  more  of  its  inestimable  value,  the  more  they 
apprehend  of  the  "exceeding  breadth"  of  the  divine 
law.  The  rejecters  of  it  may  be  exhorted  to  turn  their 
solemn  attention  on  that  law — to  study  it  long — and 
see  whether  they  dare  finally  venture  to  stand  on  that 
orround. 


XI. 


SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE  TO  CERTAIN  MEN- 
TAL STATES. 

"  Be  wise,  and  guide  thine  heart  in  the  way?^ — In 
our  course  through  life,  our  minds  are  liable  to  be,  they 
actually  are  in  succession  and  change,  placed  in  certain 
states  of  feeling,  strongly  marked,  and  for  the  time, 
strongly  prevailing  ;  by  causes  by  influences  and  cir- 
cumstances, independent  of  our  will.  We  might  call 
them  moods  ;  by  many  serious  persons  they  are  denom- 
inated frames.  They  are  produced  by  facts  and  events 
that  we  witness  or  hear  of;  by  views  of  the  state  of  the 
world; — by  particular  subjects  of  thought,  forcibly  im- 
pressed on  our  minds ; — by  circumstances  in  our  own 
immediate  condition; — by  the  state  of  our  health; — 
by  even  the  seasons  of  the  year.  And  they  form  a 
state  of  feeling,  distinguished  by  a  stronger  character, 
from  the  quiet,  ordinary  tone.  Now  the  lesson  we 
would  wish  to  inculcate  is  this :  that  these  states  of 
feeling,  thus  involuntarily  produced,  should  be  care- 
fully turned  to  a  profitable  account ;  that  we  should 


TO  CERTAIN  MENTAL  STATES.  101 

avail  ourselves  of  what  there  is  in  them  specially 
adapted  to  afford  improvement 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  make  the  previous  observa- 
tion, that  there  are  many  strong  feelings  to  which  we 
are  liable  which  we  are  not  to  talk  of  turning  to  ac- 
count, they  being  absolutely  evil,  such  as  should  be 
resisted,  repressed,  and  crushed  altogether.  For  in- 
stance, envy, — malice, — revenge, — a  rebellious  feeling 
against  God  ;  such  as  these  can  be  turned  to  no  pro- 
fitable account;  they  are  not  like  some  7iatural  evils, 
which  may,  as  poisons  may,  be  made  medicinal ;  not 
so  these  moral  and  spiritual  poisons  ;  at  least  by  mail 
they  cannot  be  turned  to  beneficial  use  ;  doubtless  they 
can  by  God,  else,  infinite  power  and  goodness  would 
not  have  permitted  their  existence  in  his  creation. 

But  the  states  of  feeling  to  which  we  refer  are  such 
as  are  7iot  essentially  and  necessarily  evil.  They  may 
be  called  a  kind  of  natural  seasons  in  the  soul ;  some- 
what parallel  to  the  seasons  and  the  climates  o[  the 
natural  world ;  only  not  having  their  regularity  and 
fixed  order.  They  have  their  evils,  and  may  be  suf- 
fered to  become  great  evils  ;  but  still  are  available  to 
good,  by  a  wise  and  religious  care.  In  other  terms, 
they  may  be  described  as  elements,  having  in  them 
what  may  be  applied  to  the  very  best  and  most  advan- 
tageous uses.  These  varied  states  of  feeling  are  of 
the  two  great  classes,  the  pleasing,  and  the  unpleas- 
ing  ;  the  latter  being  felt  oftener  and  more  sensibly. 
^  But  we  will  begin  with  an  illustration  of  the  more 
pleasing  order.  You  can  easily  represent  to  your- 
selves the  example  of  a  person  quite  in  the  sunshine 
of  feehng;  a  person  perhaps  constitutionally  cheerful, 
— in  excellent  health, — in  the  prime  of  life, — and  a 
great  number  of  circumstances  around  him  very  much 
according  to  his  wishes.  And  in  addition  to  all  this, 
there  may  be,  at  some  particular  season,  some  more 
than  ordinary  cause  to  animate  the  pleasurable  state 
of  his  mind; — some  bright  smiles  of  what  we  call 
"  good  fortune,"  beaming  out  upon  him  ;  some  impor- 
tant matter  that  was  depending,  decided  in  his  favour ; 


102  SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE  TO 

some  new  delightful  confidence  or  acquisition,  in 
regard  to  the  interests  of  friendship  and  aiiection  ; — 
some  gratifying  circumstances  in  the  affairs  of  his 
family.  Now  you  have  the  image  before  you  of  the 
person  in  this  high  exhilaration  ;  his  soul  overrunning 
with  delight,  his  countenance  lighted  up  with  anima- 
tion ! 

But  do  you  gravely  consider  the  case  ?  How  will 
it  be  with  him,  what  will  be  the  benefit  of  all  this,  if  he 
do  not  exercise  reflection  ?  if  he  do  not  "  guide  his 
heart  ?"  It  is  far  too  probable  that  all  this  will  might- 
ily tend  and  lead  to  direct  evil ; — to  forgetfulness  of 
God, — to  unbounded  love  of  the  world, — to  banish- 
ment of  all  thought  of  death  and  hereafter  ;  perhaps 
to  levity,  frivolity,  and  a  revelling  in  amusement  and 
luxury. 

But  at  the  very  best  it  will  be  this ;  he  will  indulge 
himself  in  the  fulness  of  his  satisfaction.  He  will  have 
no  use  of  his  delight  but  to  enjoy  it, — to  devour  it. 
And  all  he  will  think  will  be,  "  To-morrow  shall  be  as 
this  day,  and  much  more  abundant.'' 

Now,  what  would  you  wish  to  say  to  him?  "Can 
you  be  content  to  have  no  good  but  this,  of  all  this  ani- 
mation and  glow,  and  expansion  of  heart?  Just  to 
give  yourself  up  to  be  delighted, — to  bound  and  dance 
in  thoughtless  felicity,  like  an  animal  of  the  spring,  or 
an  insect  of  the  sunshine  ?  You  are  suffering  to  con- 
sume away,  in  mere  useless  sparkle  and  blaze,  a  pre- 
cious element  of  mind,  which  might,  while  it  burns,  be 
applied  to  some  noble  purposes." 

Here  is  the  lesson  which  we  are  desiring  to  incul- 
cate ;  that  is,  the  consideration  of  the  valuable  uses  to 
which  a  bright  season  of  the  soul  should  be  employed. 
It  should  not  be  forgotten,  that  one  point  of  wisdom  in 
such  a  case,  may  be,  somewhat  to  repress  and  sober 
such  an  exhilaration  of  the  heart.  There  might  be 
such  an  intoxication  of  joyous  sentiment  as  should  be 
fit  for  nothing  but  wild  mirth.  But  in  truth,  it  will 
seldom  be  long  before  there  shall  be  something  or 
other  to  damp  this,  even  without  seeking  it.    And  the 


CERTAIN  MENTAL  STATES.  103 

consideration  that  the  fine  pleasurable  season  of  the 
spirits  may  not  last  long,  but  is  liable  to  become  chill- 
ed and  overcast,  should  be  a  strong  admonition  for 
losing  no  time  in  turning  it  to  the  best  account.  And 
to  what  account  might  we  suppose  a  wise  man  to  turn 
it? 

In  the  first  place, — it  would  surely  be  a  wise  appli- 
cation of  this  pleasurable  state  of  feeling,  to  seek  most 
seriously,  that  some  of  it  may  be  directed  into  the 
channel  of  gratitude  to  God.  Consider  !  •'  Why  am  I 
not,  at  this  hour,  overwhelmed  with  distress,  instead  of 
these  feelings  of  delight  ?  I  deserve  to  be  so,  and 
many  of  my  fellow-mortals  are  so,  who  probably  de- 
serve it  less.  Is  it  not  because  God  is  exceedingly 
good  to  me  ?  To  constitute  this  state  which  I  am  now 
enjoying,  how  many  cares  and  gifts  of  that  beneficent 
Father, — how  many  collective  rays  of  mercy  from  that 
open  heaven !  And  does  my  heart  absorb  all,  and 
reflect  nothing  ?  All  this  that  tells  me  of  the  Supreme 
Benefactor,  does  it  really  but  make  me,  or  prove  me, 
an  Atheist?  In  what  manner — by  what  means — am 
I  expecting  ever  to  be  reminded  of  God — ever  to  be 
drawn  toward  him,  \^  hiB  goodness  has  no  such  eflfect? 
If  my  heart  has  absolutely  no  will  to  send  upward  any 
of  its  gratifying  emotions,  as  incense  to  him,  what 
must  be  its  condition  ?  Is  not  this  a  reflection  calcu- 
lated instantly  to  chill  all  this  delight  ?  If,  in  these 
pleasurable  emotions,  there  is  nothing  of  a  nature  that 
admits  of  being  sent  up  in  grateful  devotion,  what  esti- 
mate should  I  form  of  my  pleasure,  my  happiness? 
Content!  dehghted !  with  a  happiness  which  by  its 
very  nature  estranges  me  from  God !" 

From  which  we  may  observe, — that  it  will  be  a  wise 
and  valuable  use  of  any  season  of  unusual  gladness,  to 
watch  narrowly  the  effect  which  earthly  felicity  has 
upon  our  minds,  in  order  that  the  happy,  the  self-com- 
placent man  may  see  what  kind  of  nature  he  has  to  be 
acted  upon  j — a  sad  nature  truly,  if  he  sees  the  fact  to 
be,  that  the  more  its  wishes  are  gratified  the  w^orse  it 
becomes,  if  left  to  itself!    Thus  should  we  watch  in 


104  SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE  TO 

order  to  seethe  practical  proof  of  the  manner  in  which 
earthly  dehght  acts  on  the  heart,  unless  combined  with 
a  sanctifying  religion. 

There  may  have  been  a  great  deal  of  unthinking 
declamation  about  the  dangers  of  prosperity,  the  per- 
verting guile  of  earthly  pleasure,  and  topics  of  this 
kind.  And  how  often  have  the  gay,  the  young, the  pros- 
perous smiled  contemptuously  at  such  discourse  !  But 
let  us  admonish  them,  that  they  have  no  business  to 
deride  declamation  who  will  not  attend  to  proof ;  and 
when  that  proof  is  in  their  own  souls,  at  their  own 
most  serious  cost !  A  man  that  shall  in  a  right  man- 
ner make  the  kind  of  observation  we  are  describing, 
will  certainly — not  desire  to  have  distress  and  pain  in- 
stead of  his  gladness  and  gratification — but  he  will  be 
alarmed  into  earnestness  and  prayer  that  God  may 
never  let  him  fancy  himself  happy,  independently  of 
the  divine  sources  of  felicity. 

But  we  might  pertinently  have  applied  the  admoni- 
tion to  this  lively,  delighted  state  of  the  spirits  as  owing 
to  certain  particular  causes  or  occasions ; — as  for  in- 
stance, the  recovery  of  health,  from  great  suffering  and 
peril,  or  protracted  languishing.  This  is  generally  a 
season  of  extremely  pleasurable  feeling ;  but  often  suf- 
fered to  be  mere  pleasure,  tending  to  no  use ; — the 
mere  joy  of  having  escaped ; — the  gladness  of  a  priso- 
ner got  loose,  before  he  is  sober  enough  to  think  what 
he  shall  do  with  his  liberty.  But  to  what  purpose  then, 
has  the  man  been  disciplined  by  suffering,  and  been 
rescued  by  a  merciful  hand  %  He  should  be  anxious 
to  "  guide  his  heart"  to  those  purposes  which  affliction 
should  have  taught  him.  In  this  animation  of  feeling 
he  has,  in  a  sense,  a  double  life,  that  which  was  lost 
to  him  during  illness  being  virtually  restored  to  him  by 
this  extra  animation. 

We  might  have  specified  that  delighted  state  of 
feeling — that  fine  climate  or  weather  of  the  soul — 
which  some  persons  experience  from  the  beautiful 
seasons  and  scenes  of  nature.  Amid  such  feelings 
the  thought  should  never  be  long  absent ;  "  How  can 


CERTAIN  MENTAL  STATES.  105 

I,  as  a  wise  man  and  a  Christian,  take  the  best  advan- 
tage of  this  awakening  of  my  sensibility?"  No  man 
ever  seems  to  have  felt  more  of  this  influence  than 
the  poetic  and  inspired  Hebrew;  and  no  reader  of 
the  Psalms  needs  to  be  informed  to  what  use  he  di- 
rected these  feelings. 

We  shall  not  specify  any  more  of  the  particular 
modes  and  occasions  of  these  bright  and  warm  states 
of  feeling.  But  considering  them  generally,  we  can- 
not too  strongly  urge  the  duty  which  accompanies 
them.  They  should  be  regarded  as  cultivators  re- 
gard the  important  weeks  of  the  spring; — as  mariners 
regard  the  blowing  of  favourable  winds ; — as  mer- 
chants seize  a  transient  and  valuable  opportunity  of 
gain  ; — as  men,  overlaboured  and  almost  overmatched 
in  warfare,  regard  a  strong  reinforcement  of  fresh 
combatants.  The  spring  and  energy  of  spirit  felt  in 
these  pleasurable  seasons  of  the  heart  should  '  be  ap- 
plied to  the  use  of  a  more  spirited  performance  of  the 
Christian  duties  in  general,  but  especially  to  those 
which  are  the  most  congenial :  such  as  the  exercises 
and  services  most  directly  expressive  of  gratitude  to 
God  ; — the  study  and  exertions  for  promoting  the 
happiness  of  men. 

It  is  more  than  time  to  turn  to  a  darker  side  of  our 
subject.  We  cannot  have  been  dreaming  that  these 
seasons  of  pleasure  are  prevailing  through  the  gene- 
ral experience  of  our  race  ;  or  with  frequency  or  long 
duration  in  the  experience  of  almost  any  one.  The 
Christian  admonisher  to  ^^ guide  the  heart,''''  will  find 
the  occasions  but  few  for  exhorting  men  to  turn  their 
joy  to  a  wise  account,  compared  with  the  cases  of  a 
far  different  kind.  It  were  indeed  a  gloomy  calcula- 
tion, if  it  could  be  made,  what  proportion  of  time  is 
passed  by  mankind  collectively  in  a  state  of  feeling 
decidedly  infelicitous,  as  compared  with  their  experi- 
ence of  animated  pleasure.  But  a  still  far  worse  view 
of  the  case  is  this  ;  how  small  a  portion  of  their  pain- 
ful feeling  turns  to  any  good  account. 

We  do  not  mean  to  take  a  condition  of  Bevere  and 
10 


106  SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE 

overwhelming  distress,  as  the  subject  of  the  present 
admonition.  Greatly  short  of  this,  there  are  occa- 
sional states  of  darkened,  gloomy  feeling,  continuing 
for  a  while,  in  which  sensibihty  becomes  pensiveuess, 
and  gravity  sadness ;  in  which  there  is  a  strong  ten- 
dency, for  the  time,  to  serious  ideas  and  musings  of 
the  more  melancholy  class.  It  is  as  if  an  accustomed 
barrier  had  been  thrown  down  on  one  side  of  the 
mind,  to  admit  an  invasion  of  austere  thoughts,  and 
unwelcome  and  threatening  images.  The  immediate 
cause  may  have  been  some  untoward  turn  of  events  ; — 
some  painful  disappointment; — or  the  death  of  relatives 
or  friends; — and  constitutional  tendency  or  defective 
health  may  contribute. 

Now,  this  infelicitous  season  of  the  soul — shall  it 
not  be  turned,  by  wisely  "  guiding  the  heart,"  to  last- 
ing advantage  ?  And  how  may  it  be  so  ?  In  many 
instances  all  this  possible  benefit  is  refused  and  lost. 
It  is  a  bad  sign  when  we  see  a  person  in  this  state  of 
feeling  just  merely  anxious  and  endeavouring  to  es- 
cape from  it ;  when  there  is  a  horror  of  solitude  ; — a 
recourse  to  any  thing  that  will  help  to  banish  reflec- 
tion ;  such  as  change  of  place  ; — making  excursions ; 
— contriving  visits  and  parties  ;  endeavouring  to  force 
the  spirits  up  to  the  pitch  of  lively  society; — even  try- 
ing amusements,  wiien  really  little  in  the  mood  lor 
amusement.  This  is  a  wretched  and  self-  defrauding 
management. 

Certainly,  the  censure  must  have  some  terms  of 
quahfication.  It  is  to  be  acknowledged  that  in  some 
cases,  a  gloomy  state  of  the  mind  is  very  directly 
caused  by  a  disordered  or  debilitated  condition  of  the 
body.  And  when  we  speak  too  of  a  constitutional 
melancholy  temperament  in  some  persons,  we  are  but 
expressing  probably  some  mysterious  sympathy  of 
the  mind  with  its  corporeal  tenement.  Now,  in  cases 
decidedly  of  this  kind,  expedients  of  allcvation  will,  to 
a  certain  extent,  be  very  properly  sought  in  move- 
ment— change  of  scene— or  communication  with  more 
cheerful  spirits. 


TO  CERTAIN  MENTAL  STATES.        107 

But  for  the  far  greater  number  of  perssons  experi- 
encing these  occasional  graver,  darker  seasons  of  the 
mind,  there  is  no  such  concession  to  be  made.  This 
state  of  mind  should  be  regarded  not  as  a  kind  of  dis- 
order to  be  relieved  and  escaped,  but  as  a  visitation 
to  be  improved. 

One  might  address  such  a  person  thus: — "Now,  it 
is  too  probable  that  during  your  past  life,  there  has 
been  far  too  little  of  the  voluntary  exercise  of  grave, 
deep  thought,  of  choosing  serious  and  solemn  subjects 
of  reflection,  and  with  an  appropriate  temper  of  feel- 
ing ;'  that  is  to  say,  what  a  gay  spirit  would  deem  a 
gloomy  feeling,  and  what  you  may  have  averted  or 
evaded  as  such.  Now  that  causes,  independent  of 
your  will,  have  placed  you,  as  it  were,  in  the  very  ele- 
ment for  such  thought  and  feeling,  let  not  your  chief 
aim  and  effort  be  to  escape  from  it !  You  had  not 
seriousness  enough  to  go  into  a  solemn  temple ;  but 
now  that  a  hand  not  to  be  resisted  has  led  you  into  it, 
is  your  sole  attention  to  be  fixed  on  the  door? — while 
the  oracles  of  God  are  inscribed  there  I  the  images  ol 
the  dead  are  standing  there !  visions  of  futurity  are 
disclosed  there  !  Now  that  light  thoughts,  and  brisk 
spirits,  and  worldly  pleasures  and  hopes,  are  aloof  for 
a  while,  do  take  the  opportunity  for  serious  considera- 
tion. Reflect ! — are  there  no  great  and  solemn  ques- 
tions hitherto,  most  unwisely,  left  undecided  ?  When 
will  you  be  willing  to  bring  them  to  a  decision  ?  Is 
it  to  be  when  you  shall  have  recovered  the  easy  or 
gay  tone  of  feeling  which  always  averts  you  from 
such  subjects  ?  Have  you  yet  come  to  a  determinate 
judgment  on  the  state  of  your  mind,  in  reference  to  its 
greatest  interests?  If  not,  is  a  season  of  unusually 
grave  feeling,  of  all  times  the  wrong  one  for  such  a 
purpose?  Have  you  yet  come  to  a  full  consent  of 
the  soul  to  take  death  and  eternity  into  the  system  of 
your  interests ;  into  an  intimate  combination  with  all 
that  you  are  wishing,  projecting,  and  pursuing?  If 
scarcely  so, — when  is  this  grand  point  to  be  effected  ? 
Will  these  solemn  objects  come  to  your  view  with 


108  SELF-DISCIPLINE  SUITABLE 

more  gracious  aspect  ?  will  they  be  welcomed  nearer 
to  you,  when  you  shall  have  again  become  more  satis- 
fied or  delighted  \vith  the  gratifications  of  this  life  ? 
Shall  you  call  them  to  meet  you  in  the  flowery  gar- 
den of  pleasure  ? — in  your  circles  of  gayety  ? — among 
your  treasures  of  acquired  gain?  Reflect  1 — have 
you  yet  come  absolutely  to  meet  God,  in  your  capa- 
city of  a  sinner  condemned, — and  to  be  pardoned  and 
saved?  And  have  you  come  really  and  effectually 
to  a  believing  and  grateful  reception  of  the  offered  re- 
demption by  Jesus  Christ?  If  there  be  anything 
dubious  as  to  this  great  matter,  are  you  impatient  to 
hasten  away  into  a  state  of  feeling  in  which  you  may 
slumber  over  such  a  question,  and  such  a  doubt  ?•' 
Or  supposing  these  great  interests  not  to  be  in  doubt 
and  hazard, — if  there  is  any  duty,  or  any  temptation 
with  respect  to  which  the  darker  season  of  feeling 
would  aid  him  to  prepare  his  mind,  is  it  wise  to  reject 
that  aid  ? 

Now  is  not  this  a  reasonable  pleading?  It  is  but 
requiring  that  a  man  should  not  be  willing  to  come  out 
from  a  temporary  and  special  state  of  feehng,  without 
having  availed  himself  of  that  advantage  which  it  has 
specially  oflfered  him  ? 

But  very  briefly  we  will  apply  the  admonition  to 
only  one  more  particular  state  of  feeling  which  not  sel- 
dom visits  an  observer  of  mankind ;  namely,  an  indig- 
nant excitPMent  of  wind  asrainst  human  conduct.  It 
will  noi  be  pretended  that  this  is  one  of  those  feelings 
thai  ought  to  be  extinguished  as  absolutely  evil.  It  is 
what  the  best  men  have  made  no  scruple  of  indulging 
and  avowing;  the  worthiest  teachers,  protesters,  and 
reformers.  But  to  make  the  best  advantage  of  it,  a 
man  must  very  wisely  "  guide  his  heart."  He  looks 
abroad  and  sees  an  infinity  of  things  as  he  knows  they 
ought  not  to  be; — every  kind  of  perversity,  depravity, 
and  wrong; — and  in  many  instances  iniquity  triumph- 
ing in  power  and  success.  And  at  times  the  flame  of 
indignation  is  made  to  burn  with  violence  by  some 
particular  occurring  instance  of  great  iniquity.    Now, 


TO  CERTAIN  MENTAL  STATES.        109 

he  cannot  but  be  sure  that,  within  certain  limitations, 
he  '•  does  well  to  be  angry."  But  then  the  admonition , 
"Take  care  that  you  manage  this  fire  to  answer  a 
good  purpose,  and  that  you  do  not  burn  yourself.  What 
purpose?  It  may  enforce  on  you  the  necessity  of  a 
most  carefully  disciplined  judgment.  It  may  surely 
contribute  to  aggravate  your  permanent  impression  of 
the  extreme  evil  of  sin,  let  every  indignant  emotion  go 
thither; — and  therefore,  to  =' justify"  the  Almighty  in 
that  part  of  his  economy  which  is  directed  in  hostility 
against  it ;  to  impress  upon  you  that  what  is  so  much 
to  be  hated,  is  no  less  to  be  dreaded.  Therefore  be- 
ware yintrself.  The  indignant  thoughts  and  emotions 
thus  going  outward,  may  surely  admonish  you  against 
leaving  all  to  an  indulgent  judgment  within.  Amidst 
these  indignant  feelings  there  should  be  suggested  a 
warning  against  a  deceptive  manner  of  comparing 
yourself  with  others.  This  state  of  feeling  may  ad- 
monish you  of  the  sovereignty  of  God.  You  look  at  all 
this  ;  you  are  impotent  and  cannot  put  an  end  to  it. 
God  sees  it  all ;  he  is  omnipotent,  and  could  end  it  in 
a  moment.  There  is  a  reason  why  he  does  not.  You 
must  submit  in  mystery  and  humility  to  his  supreme 
wisdom.  And  finally,  should  it  not  contribute  to  the 
desire  of  a  better  world  ?  and  to  a  more  earnest  appli- 
cation to  all  that  which  may  prepare  you  for  it  ?" 

Here  we  close  these  observations.  These  few  ex- 
emplifications may  contribute  to  show,  how  those  in- 
voluntary states  of  feeling,  which  come  upon  us  for  a 
time,  may  be  turned  to  a  valuable  use  ;  that  so  we  may 
carry  out  of  the  world  with  us  benefits  acquired  by  the 
divine  aid,  from  all  the  mental  seasons  through  which 
we  shall  have  passed. 


10* 


XI. 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIX  THOUGHTS. 

"  How  long  shall  thy  vain  thoughts  lodge  within 
theeV — There  are  some  of  our  duties  which  are  oc- 
casional and  temporary ; — there  is  in  a  strict  sense,  a 
"  time  for  them,"  a  time  marked  out  from  other  time. 
But  there  are  some  which  are  habitual  and  continual ; 
so  that  when  they  are  thought  of,  it  is  always,  '•  now  is 
the  time.'' 

Now  it  is  not  implied  that  any  duty  is  unimportant, 
any  precept  insignificant,  when  we  say  that  there  is  a 
peculiarly  great  importance  in  those  duties  which  are 
habitual  and  continual.  Yet  it  would  appear  that  ac- 
tually less  importance  is  attached,  in  general  apprehen- 
sion, to  the  continual  than  to  what  may  be  called  the 
temporary  duties. 

b^^  a  case  of  this  latter  class,  the  temporary  duties,  a 
great  deal  of  importance  may  seem  to  be  collected  into 
one  particular  time,  and  one  particular  portion  of  con- 
duct. This  particular  matter  of  duty  may  be  such,  that 
there  is  an  extremely  obvious  good  or  evil  involved  in 
performing  or  neglecting  it;  in  doing  it  well  or  ill;  in 
doing  it  or  the  reverse.  There  is  the  immediate  threat- 
ening of  bad  consequences ; — the  divine  displeasure 
and  a  weight  of  guilt; — perhaps  disgrace  in  society. 

Whereas,  in  a  matter  of  the  other  class,  the  contin- 
ual duties,  the  duty  seems  to  be  thinly  diffused  over  a 
very  wide  space,  and  to  be  of  great  and  special  im- 
portance nowhei-e.  The  obUgation  is  not  peculiarly 
strong  here,  nor  there,  this  hour  or  the  next.  The 
guilt  of  neglecting  it  at  any  one  time  is  but  as  a  parti- 
cle. Therelbre  the  accumulation  of  guilt  is  insensible 
and- unalarming;  each  little  portion  passes  and  van- 
ishes away,  and  is  too  slight  to  leave  a  legible  trace 
on  the  conscience  ;  so  that  the  innumerable  small  por- 
tions are  never  felt  as  collected  into  the  great  sum. 

The  kind  of  evil  reproached  in  our  text  comes  too 
much  under  this  latter  description.    The  habit  of  vani- 


CHARACTERISTICS  OP  VAir*  THOUGHTS.  Ill 

tij  in  the  thoughts  m  ly  prevail  in  many  persons  who 
would  be  appalled  at  the  aspect  of  one  great  substan- 
tial sin,  and  are  not  found  neglecting  the  chief,  obvioua, 
practical  duties  of  external  life.  They  may  little  sus- 
pect how  much  duty  they  are  neglecting,  or  how  much 
guilt  they  are  contracting.  They  go  quietly  to  repose 
each  night,  and  hardly  recollect  to  ask  for  its  pardon. 
Yet  a  month,  a  year,  or  many  years,  of  vain  thoughts  ! 
in  a  being  preparmg  for  an  eternity  of  seriousbess  and 
thought ! — 'it  is  truly  an  awful  account !  Yet  with  many 
this  stands  for  little,  in  comparison  with  some  one  or 
two  very  wrong  external  actions.  It  were,  it  is  true,  too 
vague  and  fanciful  a  kind  of  calculation  to  pretend  to 
assign  the  proportion  between  any  given  measure  of 
sin  in  external  action,  and  a  long  succession  of  vain 
thoughts  ;  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  we  are  all  liable 
to  underrate  the  guilt  of  the  latter. 

What  a  mighty  amount  of  thinking  there  is  in  hu- 
man spirits  that  does  not  come  under  the  censure  of 
the  Prophet!-  And  do  we  say  this  in  congratulation 
of  our  race?  No!  It  is  little  cause  for  satisfaction 
that  a  criminal  stands  unaccused  of  one  degree  of 
guilt  because  it  is  a  deeper  guilt  that  is  imputed. 
The  epithet  "  wti;i,"  in  its  strict  acceptation,  implies 
something  trifling — light — insignificant — empty.  It 
is  therefore  not  the  proper  description  of  wicked 
thoughts.  For  example,  impious  thoughts  respecting 
the  divine  Being; — thoughts  formed  in  the  spirit  of 
disapproval,  aversion,  and  rebellion ; — thoughts  of 
malignity; — thinking,  in  order  to  indulge  malevolent 
dispositions,  rancour,  revenge ;— thinking  how  to  give 
effect  to  these  dispositions,  purpose;},  devices,  schemes, 
expedients ;  thoughts  intent  on  wickedness  of  any 
kind ;  dwelling  on  it  with  complacency  and  preference ; 
pursuing  it  in  desire,  intention,  and  project.  Such 
thoughts  are  of  too  aggravated  evil  to  be  called  "  vain" 
thoughts.  They  are  not  trivial,  idle  actions  of  the 
mind,  but  often  strong  and  grave  ones:  tending  pow- 
erfully to  an  effect. 

But  consider,  how  much  of  this  order  of  thinking 


112   CH\RACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

there  is  in  human  mintls !  So  that  it  looks  like  a  quite 
minor  vision  of  evils  when  we  turn  to  the  view  of  the 
mere  vanities  of  the  mind.  How  striking  the  reflec- 
tion, that  it  looks  so  only  by  comparison  with  some- 
thing so  much  worse  that  there  is  in  human  spirits  ! 

Thus,  if  a  good  man  had  been  compelled  to  sojourn 
awhile  among  the  most  atrocious  of  mankind,  cruel 
savages  rioting  in  blood  and  the  infliction  of  tortures, 
as  in  Dahomey,  ^Mexico,  Ashantee:  or  pirates,  des- 
peradoes, and  murderers,  and  at  last  escaped  into  the 
society  ot  frivolous,  vain  triflrrs  ;  by  force  of  compar- 
ison this  miglit  seem  almost  like  innocence  and  good- 
ness ;  till  he  recollected  his  rules  of  judgment  arid 
said,  "  But  this,  too,  is  bad." 

So  we  see  how  the  case  is  with  the  moral  state  of 
man  !  You  may  fix  upon  an  evil,  and  by  the  applica- 
tion of  rules  rational  and  divine,seethat  it  is  absolutely 
a  great  one.  But  going  deeper,  you  may  reduce  it  to 
geem  as  if  it  were  but  a  slight  one,  by  comparison  with 
something  else  which  you  find  in  man.  Thus  vain 
thoughts,  compared  with  vicious,  polluted  thoughts, 
malignant  thoughts,  and  blasphemous  thoughts.  O, 
the  depth  to  which  the  investigation  and  the  censure 
may  descend  ! 

We  can  easily  picture  to  our  minds  some  large  ne- 
glected mansion  in  a  foreign  wilderness;  the  upper 
apartments  in  possession  of  swarms  of  disgusting 
insects  ; — the  lower  ones  the  haunt  of  savage  beasts  ; 
— but  the  low^est,  the  subterraneous  ones,  the  retreat 
of  serpents,  and  every  loathsome  living  form  of  the 
most  deadly  venom. 

With  respect  to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  thoughts,  it  is 
an  unfavorable  circumstance  that  the  man  is  commit- 
ted wholly  to  himself,  without  external  restraint  or  in- 
terference— putting  out  of  view  the  divine  inspection. — 
His  thoughts  are  his  own  ;  they  are  Avithin  a  protecting 
xjover ;  for  them  he  is  not  exposed  to  be  censured  and 
made  ashamed  by  the  inspectors  of  his  outward  con- 
duct; often  he  would  be  so  ashamed,  if  such  a  thing 
could  happen  as  a  sudden  mental  transparency.    Un- 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.         113 

der  this  proiection  and  exemption,  it  is  quite  certain 
that  if  he  shall  not  exercise  a  careful  government  over 
his  thoughts  in  the  fear  of  God,  they  will  ran  to  vanity, 
at  the  least.  It  is  their  easiest  operation ;  it  is  their 
mere  animal  play;  they  hate  to  carry  a  weight,  except 
when  the  passions  lay  it  on.  A  man  may  too  well 
verify  this  by  a  very  little  reflective  attention. 

Observe  next,  that  if  the  thoughts  are  left  unre- 
strained to  commit  folly,  they  will  commit  an  immensity 
of  it.  In  this  kind  of  activity,  the  thinking  power  is 
never  tired  nor  exhausted.  Think  of  the  rapidity  of 
the  train  1  how  sure  it  is  that  another,  and  still.another, 
will  instantly  come  1  Think  of  the  endless  evolutions, 
the  never-ceasing  sport,  the  confused  multiplicity  ! 
Never  stagnant  pool  was  more  prolific  ol  flies,  nor  the 
swarm  about  it  more  wild  and  worthless !  But  what  a 
wretched  running  to  waste  of  the  thinking  principle  1 
"  How  long  shall  thy  vain  thoughts  lodge  within  thte .?'' 

I.  These  thoughts  are  "  vain"  from  which  we  do 
not,  and  cannot  reap  any  good  ;  supposing  them  not 
of  the  directly  noxious  kind.  If  there  be  any  kind  of 
action  by  which  we  should  get  some  good,  it  is  that  of 
our  thinking  spirit.  Well,  let  a  man  take  a  survey 
over  the  course  of  his  thoughts  for  a  certain  time  past ; 
we  will  say  his  thoughts  in  those  parts  of  his  time  in 
which  his  thinking  has  not  been  intently  and  neces- 
sarily employed  on  his  indispensable  worldly  affairs. 
Let  him  by  a  strong  act  ol  mind  collect  the  long  de- 
parted train  into  one  view,  not  by  detail  and  enumera- 
tion— no  indeed  !  but  by  a  comprehensive  estimate  ; 
and  then  say  "What  good?  Have  they  given  and 
left  me  any  thing  worth  having?  what?  Have  they 
made  me  any  wiser?  wherein?  What  portion  of 
previous  ignorance  have  tliey  cleared  away  ?  In 
what  point  is  my  judgment  rectified  ?  What  good 
purpose  have  they  fixed  or  forwarded  ?  What  one 
thing  that  was  wrong  has  been  corrected?  or  even 
more  clearly  seen  how  to  be  corrected?  Is  it,  can  it 
be  the  fact,  that  all  that  succession  passed  me  but  as 
the  lights  and  shadows  of  an  April  day  ?  or  as  the 


114        CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

insects  that  have  flown  past  me  in  the  air  ?  While 
ten  thousand  or  a  hundred  thousand  ideas  have  passed 
my  mind,  might  I  really  as  well  have  liad  none  '?"  To 
use  a  humhle  plu-ase,  what  has  he  got  to  show  for  it 
all  ?  He  has  kept  his  mind  open  to  entertain  all  these 
passing  visitants  ;  they  have  occupied  his  faculties, 
and  consumed  his  time.  What !  have  they  all  gone 
away  and  paid  him  nothing?  Let  him  see  how  many, 
or  whether  any  of  that  vast  number  are  now  retained 
by  him,  as  valuable  additions  to  the  mental  store. 
Whether  there  be  any  grains  of  gold-dust  deposited 
by  the  stream  that  has  carried  down  so  many  millions 
of  particles  of  mud  ?  Does  he  even  think  there  were 
many  of  the  train  that  he  could  wish  could  be  brought 
back  and  permanently  retained  ?  But  what  should  he 
think  of  his  thoughts,  and  of  the  mind  that  has  sutTered 
itself  to  be  so  employed,  if  the  case  be  such  that  he 
can  be  content  the  myriads  of  them  are  gone  into  obli- 
vion! 

II.  Those  thoughts  are  likely  to  be  of  the  "  vain" 
character,  which  cannot  associate  in  any  agreement, 
with  useful  and  valuable  ones.  Does  a  man  perceive 
in  himself  that  if  serious  useful  thoughts  happen  to  be 
suggested,  there  is  a  great  tribe  within  and  in  possess- 
ion, that  know  nothing  of  these  uncouth  intruders,  ex- 
cept that  they  are  enemies;  that  can  do  nothing  in 
conjunction  with  them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  resist  and 
overpower  them,  and  divert  him  away  from  attending 
to  them  ?  What  manner  of  thoughts  can  these  be  ? 
It  were  a  good  experiment  if  a  person  in  the  midst  of 
a  heedless  course  of  thoughts  would  suddenly  turn  to 
some  serious  important  subject.  See  what  sensation 
is  produced  among  them  !  Is  it  that  which  would  be 
produced  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  a  wise  and  vener- 
able man  among  a  compan}^  of  frothy  triflers?  Then 
what  kind  of  thoughts  are  they  ? 

III.  Those  are  "vain  thoughts"  which  it  is  found 
absolutely  necessary  to  drive  and  keep  out  in  order  to 
attend  to  any  serious  matter. to  good  purpose:  and 
unhappily  often  as  difficult  as  it  is  necessary,     Have 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS    115 

you  never  experienced  this  necessity  and  this  difficuUy? 
You  have  perhaps  deternnined  and  attempted  to  apply 
the  whole  mind's  attention  to  some  important  matter. 
But  you  found  yourself  like  a  man  sitting  down  to 
study  in  a  rooni  filled  with  a  moving,  talking,  laugh- 
ing crowd.  Is  it  any  better  to  have  such  a  crowd  and 
confusion  within  the  mind  itself,  than  outside?  But 
you  resolutely  and  indignantly  tried  again.  But  again 
this  mental  mob  has  forced  its  way  in  ;  surrounded  you ; 
baffled  you ;  mocked  you  ;  distracted  you !  A  per- 
son in  such  plight  might  be  told  ;  "  You  should  not  so 
long  have  suffered  '  vain  thoughts'  to  'lodge'  within 
you,  that  they  made  the  mind,  as  it  were,  their  own 
proper  abode !" 

IV.  An  obvious  description  of  vain  thoughts  is. 
thoughts  dwelling  largely  and  habitually  on  trifling 
things.  Many  persons  are  in  a  measure  saved  from 
this,  no  thanks  to  their  better  will,  by  the  pressure  of 
indispensable  business  in  practical  life.  But  so  far  as 
the  mind  is  left  to  its  freedom,  there  is  a  sad  propensity 
to  waste  itself  on  trifles;  and  what  an  infinity  of  them 
to  waste  itself  among!  All  the  frivolous  cares  about 
personal  display  !  all  the  idle  nothings  of  fashion  and 
routine!  all  ihe  vanities  of  amusement!  all  the  bubble 
incidents  on  the  stream  of  society!  the  endless  dance 
of  atoms  through  the  whole  air  of  the  moral  world  ! 
The  mind  that  will  give  its  thoughts  away  to  these, 
alas  for  its  destiny  !  Would  that  some  stern  alarming 
voice  might  often  break  in  upon  such  thoughts  with, 
'•  What  is  all  this  to  thee  ?  hast  thou  nothing  else  to 
think  of  before  thou  shalt  die  and  appear  before  God  ?" 

V.  "Vain"  are  the  thoughts  that  are  habitually 
dwelling  on  trifling  subjects,  but  still  more  so,  if  possi- 
ble, those  that  trifle  with  important  ones.  Great  things 
may  be  thought  of  in  a  light,  careless  way,  with  no 
sense  of  their  importance;  or  merely  as  matters  of 
curiosity  and  speculation;  or  merely  tO  throw  them 
into  forms  of  amusing  or  ludicrous  fancy.  You  have 
seen  sometimes  on  the  surface  of  water,  when  rippled 
by  the  breeze — you  have  seen  the  sun  or  the  stars 


116  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS 

reflected  in  a  play  of  shivered,  distorted,  fantaetic 
liglits.  it  is  so  that  some  vain  minds  receive  the  grand- 
est and  even  most  solemn  subjects.  But  let  them  be 
warned  that  there  is  no  transition  more  tremendous, 
tlian  that  Irom  being  amused  with  the  most  important 
objects  to  the  state  of  feeling  that  insulted  importance 
avenged. 

VI.  Another  characteristic  of  vanity  in  the  thoughts 
is,  their  not  remaining  with  any  continuance  on  a 
subject;  their  fickleness.  If  sutlered,  they  will  start 
from  point  to  point,  with  very  many  removes  within  a 
few  moments  ;  as  if  they  were  airaid  of  growing  to  a 
subject,  and  remaining  fast  for  ever;  or  as  if  afraid  of 
finding  any  good  in  a  thing  to  make  it  worth  while  to 
remain  a  few  moments  in  the  contemplation  of  it.  It 
is  infinitely  beyond  all  calculation  or  prophecy  where 
the  thought  shall  be  five  minutes  hence,  unless  there 
be  some  very  lavourite  topic  ;  and  then  from  the  re- 
motest subject  it  shall  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  dart 
upon  that.  With  this  exception,  there  is  no  tenacity 
of  an  object.  In  this  ungoverned  state,  any  thing  can 
take  away  the  thought  from  any  thing.  There  Is  no- 
thing so  great  that  it  might  touch  upon,  that  there  is 
anything  too  little  to  draw  it  away.  One  thought 
therefore  is  of  no  use  for  leading  profitably  to  another. 
There  is  no  regulated  connexion  and  dependence  in 
the  trains  no  rational  links  ;  no  progres.sive steps  ;  no 
leading  to  an  ultimate  object.  All  this  vanity  there 
will  be  in  the  thoughts,  v/hen  the  course  of  them  is  left 
quite  open  and  free  to  casualty  ;  when  nothing  is  avoid- 
ed, repelled,  or  selected. 

VII.  But  there  are  vanities  of  thought  of  a  less  fickle 
character.  As  when  the  mind  has  some  specially 
favourite  trifle  ;  some  cherished  idolized  toy ;  some 
enchanting  particle  of  this  world's  dust ;  some  little 
purpose  to  be  eftected,  which  has  grown  interesting 
only  by  the  kabit  of  thinking  of  it.  There  is  many  a 
mind  thus  seized  upon,  and  fascinated  by  some  one 
trifling  object — trifling  in  all  but  its  power  of  thus  pos- 
seesing  itself  of  a  human  soul !     That  captivated  soul 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.         117 

has  gradually  magnified  it  into  a  thing  of  commanding 
interest ;  and  constantly  makes  its  way  to  it,  in 
thought,  through  whatever  multitude  of  other  things, 
small  or  great.  Insomuch  that  at  length  all  things 
strangely  seem  to  lead  or  point  to  it.  If  the  man  could 
suddenly  become  a  clear-sighted  self-observer,  he 
would  be  amazed  to  perceive  the  almost  irresistible 
tendency  of  his  thoughts.  Wherefore?  Let  him 
soberly  make  out  to  himself,  what  mine  of  wealth, 
what  reservoir  of  felicity,  what  principle  of  divinity, 
there  can  be  enclosed  within  that  irifle  !  And  suppose 
divine  wisdom  to  come  in  upon  him,  and  he  would 
execrate  this  vanity  of  his  thoughts — the  principle,  the 
spell  of  this  captivatioa  what  should  he  call  it  but  the 
magnetism  of  Satan  7 

VIII.  Partly  like  this  is  that  vanity  of  which  many 
have  to  accuse  their  thoughts,  in  relation  to  things  per- 
haps not  exactly  of  the  frivolous  class,  and  that  justly 
claim  a  measure  of  thought ;  namely,  the  tendency  to 
return  to  them  continually,  when  it  is  sensibly  evident 
that  the  thinking  more  of  them  can  be  of  no  advantage. 
The  thought  goes  again  just  in  the  very  same  track, 
and  the  same  length ;  nor  expects  to  do  any  more.  It 
makes  the  same  enumeration  of  things,  the  same  com- 
parison, the  same  calculation.  A  person  perhaps  re- 
peats within  himself  twenty  times  over  what  he  has 
said  in  some  particular  case,  or  heard,  or  done  ;  he 
measures  fifty  times  over  the  probable  distance  of 
time  to  some  wished  for  future  event,  when  he  knows 
that  nothing  on  earth  is  more  useless. 

IX.  This  will  often  be  accompanied  by  another  mode 
of  vain  thought,  that  of  allowing  the  mind  to  dwell  on 
fancies  of  how  things  might  be  or  might  have  been; 
when  the  plain  reality  of  how  they  are  and  must  he,  is 
before  us. 

X.  A  wide  and  aggravated  charge  of  vain  thought 
falls  upon  men's  notions  and  schemings  of  worldly 
felicity.  The  evil  attending  and  resulting  from  all 
this  might  be  exposed  as  a  distinct  additional  topic  of 

11 


J  18      CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

illustration  ;  but  it  must  in  a  measure  be  evident  in  the 
mere  description  of  these  vanities  of  the  thoughts. 

Some  suiigestions  of  a  corrective  disciphne  might  be 
made  on  a^ubject  asacceptabJe,  as  it  is  plainly  impor- 
tant. But  the  great  point  is,  that  we  be  desirous  in 
good  earnest,  to  have  so  pernicious  an  evil  corrected; 
that  our  thinking  and  immortal  spirits,  which  should  be 
temples  of  the  Most  High,  may  not  be  the  degraded  re- 
cesses of  every  vanity  with  which  his  Spirit  cannot 
dwell. 


XIII. 

CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 


"JZbir  long  shall  thy  vain  thoughts  lodge  uithin 
thee  ?" — The  former  essay  was  chiefly  a  representation 
of  matter  of  fact. — An  attempt  to  describe  the  plague  of 
vain  thoughts,  a  mental  grievance  bearing  really  no 
small  analogy  to  one  or  two  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt. 
The  description  was  in  too  many  particulars  to  allow 
ot  any  attempt  at  recapitulation.  With  all  their  vari- 
eties, however,  and  compass,  and  mischief,  they  stand 
as  but  one  class  of  the  evil  thoughts  by  which  the  hu- 
man mind  is  infested,  that  of  the  trifling,  empty,  im- 
pertinent, volatile,  useless — as  distinguishable  from 
vicious  or  polluted  thoughts,  malignant  thoughts,  and 
thoughts  directly  impious. 

The  evil,  the  sin  and  perniciousness  of  vain  thoughts, 
could  not  but  be  manifest  in  a  mere  description  ol* 
them,  if  at  all  adequately  given.  Such  a  description 
would  necessarily  display,  as  a  miserable  thing,  the 
waste  of  the  activity  of  the  thinking  principle.  Con- 
gider,  that  we  have  need  of  a  profitable  use  of  all  thie, 


CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.  119 

and  are  kept  poor  by  the  waste  ;  we  cannot  afford  it. 
The  sun  may  waste  an  immense  proportion  of  his 
beams — the  clouds  of  their  showers — but  these  can  be 
spared ;  there  is  an  infinite  opulence  still,  for  all  the 
indispensable  purposes  of  nature.  It  is  not  so  with 
our  thinking  faculty.  The  most  saving  use  of  our 
thinking  power  will  but  imperfectly  suffice  for  the 
knowledge,  sound  judgment,  and  wisdom,  which  are 
SO  very  necessary  for  us,  It  is  wretched,  then,  that 
this  precious  thing,  the  activity  of  our  thinking  spirit, 
should  run  to  utter  waste.  It  is  as  if  the  fine  element, 
GAS,  by  means  of  w^hich  your  city  is  now  lighted, 
should  be  suffered  to  expire  into  the  air  without  being 
kindled  into  light. 

This  vanity  of  the  thoughts  puts  us  practically  out 
of  the  relation  we  are  placed  in  to  the  highest  objects 
and  interests.  We  are  placed  in  a  relation  to  God — 
Christ — a  future  world — to  an  infinite  interest.  Now 
how  is  this  relation  to  be  recognized,  to  be  practically 
realized  to  our  minds  ?  how  can  it  be,  but  by  thought 
of  an  appropriate  kind  ?  The  sensible  connection  of 
the  mind  with  those  great  objects,  its  contact  with 
them,  must  be  by  means  of  there  being  in  it  ideas  of 
those  objects,  ideas  in  a  degree  corresponding  to  their 
greatness.  Certainly,  not  ideas  alone,  when  we  are 
speaking  of  a  saving  and  happy  connection  with 
divine  objects,  but  at  all  events,  ideas.  Now  how  are 
these  important  and  solemn  ideas  to  have  any  occu- 
pancy and  hold  of  the  mind  when  it  is  filled  and  dissi- 
pated with  all  the  vanities  of  thought  ?  they  cannot 
abide  on  the  mind,  nor  come  to  it  in  such  a  state.  It 
is  as  when,  in  some  regions,  a  swarm  of  locusts  fills 
the  air,  so  as  to  exclude  the  sun,  at  once  intercepting 
the  light  of  heaven,  and  devouring  what  it  should 
shine  on.  Thus  by  ill-regulated  thought  we  are  de- 
frauded of  what  is  the  supreme  value  of  thought.  We 
amuse  ourselves  with  the  flying  chaff,  careless  of  the 
precious  grain. 

Then  if  we  advert  to  the  important  matters  of  prac- 
tical duty,  it  is  instantly  seen  how  ill  vain  thoughts 


120  CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

Will  serve  us  tMre.  To  note  but  one,  tlie  duty  of  im- 
parting instruction,  the  social  promotion  of  wisdom. 
What  will  ten  thousand  of  these  trifling  volatile 
thoughts  come  to,  for  explaining  any  subject,  disen- 
tangling any  perplexity,  rectifying  any  false  notion, 
enforcing  any  argument,  mantaining  any  truth  ?  It 
is  in  vain  that  the  man  glances,  in  recollection  and 
research,  through  all  the  idle  crowd  of  his  ideas  for 
any  thing  to  avail  him.  It  were  like  bringing  straws, 
and  leaves,  and  feathers  to  meet  an  accompt  where  sil- 
ver and  gold  are  required.  Such  a  person  feels  an  ina- 
bility to  concentrate  his  thoughts  to  a  purpose  of  social 
wisdom,  when  there  is  a  particular  occasion  to  do  so, 
and  an  extreme  repugnance  to  make  the  attempt.  In 
consequence,  the  communications  of  social  life  will  con- 
tribute little  to  improvement ;  they  will  be  dissipated 
among  trifling  topics  ;  they  will  be  shallow  and  un- 
profitable on  important  ones;  they  will  tend  to  run 
quite  into  levity  and  folly. 

Now  if  we  endeavour  to  survey  in  one  collective 
view  the  modes  and  characters  of  this  evil  habit,  and 
its  effects,  we  behold  something  utterly  unsuited  to 
the  condition  of  the  immortal  spirit  on  earth,  and  fa- 
tally at  variance  with  its  high  destiny.  It  is  here 
under  a  great  and  solemn  appointment,  advancing 
into  a  life  of  the  same  duration  as  that  of  its  Creator. 
And  a  prevailing  vanity  of  thought  is  a  flagrant  in- 
consistency with  the  nature  and  obligations  of  this 
awful  predicament.  Here  is  a  destination  to  the  mag- 
nitude of  which  the  greatest  thoughts  of  the  highest 
created  being  are  inadequate — and  a  prevailing  man- 
ner of  thinking  hardly  worthy  of  a  creature  whose  ut- 
most scope  of  interest  should  be  to  amuse  away  a  few 
years  on  earth,  and  then  sink  in  the  dust  wholly  and 
for  ever ! 

Now  if  we  are  conscious  that  this  vanity  of  the 
thoughts  is  an  evil  besetting  us,  shall  we  not  be  earn- 
estly desirous  that  it  may  be  counteracted  ?  If  we 
are,  we  shall  be  well  disposed  to  the  consideration  of 
any  thing  that  may  contribute  to  the  remedy  of  so 


CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.  \2\ 

great  an  evil.     Our  present  business  is  to  offer  a  few 
suggestions  to  this  purpose. 

But  we  are  to  beware  of  imagining,  that  for  such  an 
evil,  there  can  be  any  discipline  exckisiveiy  specific 
and  peculiar  ;  any  discipline  that  should  treat  the  mal- 
ady as  a  circumstance  only  of  the  state  of  the  mind, 
separable  from  its  general  condition  ;  as  in  the  heal- 
ing art  there  are  what  they  call  topical  complaints, 
and  their  appropriate  applications. 

It  is  indeed  seif-evident  that  the  habitual  quality  of 
the  thoughts  will  correspond  to  the  general  state  of 
the  mind.  Just  left  to  themselves,  to  arise  and  act 
spontaneously,  they  would  express  the  very  state  of  the 
soul,  its  inclinations,  perversions,  ignorance,  or  any 
better  quality  there  may  be  in  it.  So  that  if  the  in- 
voluntary thoughts  could  but  strike  against  a  mirror, 
a  man  might  see  his  mental  image. 

Therefore  no  corrective  discipline  for  the  thoughts 
can  be  effectual  that  does  not  apply  to  the  substantial, 
habitual  state  of  the  mind.  If  there  were  a  spot  of 
marshy  ground,  which  exhaled  offensive  vapours,  it 
would  be  ridiculous  to  think  of  expedients  to  be  used 
in  the  air  above  it,  fumigations,  or  any  such  thing ; 
the  ground  itself  must  be  drained  and  reclaimed.  As 
to  the  correction  of  the  mental  vice  in  question,  how 
evident  it  is  that  it  is  not  to  be  a  thing  to  operate  sole- 
ly on  the  thoughts  themselves,  rejecting,  repelling, 
substituting,  &.C.,  but  to  operate  primarily  on  that  in 
the  mind  which  causes  their  prevalence.  The  pas- 
sions and  affections  are  grand  sources  of  thoughts, — 
they  therefore  are  to  be  in  a  rectified  state  not  tending 
to  produce  vain  thoughts.  The  subjects  most  largely 
occupying  the  mind,  most  effectually  "lodged"  in  it 
— the  measure  of  valuable  knowledge — will  have  a 
great  effect  on  even  the  involuntary  thoughts.  It  is 
requisite  the  mind  be  in  a  settled  state,  not  essentially 
tending  to  vain  thoughts ;  and  that  there  be  strong 
fixed  principles  adverse  to  them,  so  that  the  case 
shall  be,  "I  hate  vain  thoughts."  Psalm  cxix.  113. 
11* 


122  CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS 

We  should  here  mark  a  distinction.  The  evil  in 
question  m.ay  be  seen  reversed  in  a  special  and  partial 
sense.  In  some  one  capacity  a  man  may  be  in  a 
great  measure  Creed  or  exempted  from  the  trifling, 
empty,  volatile  class  of  ideas.  For  instance,  a  man 
of  science,  vigorously  disciplined  to  think,  so  that  few 
of  his  ideas  absolutely  run  to  waste  ;  or  a  man  of 
learning;  or  a  man  of  arduous  worldly  enterprise. 
Now  this  is  great  and  admirable  regarded  simply  in 
an  intellectual  view  ;  viewed  apart  from  moral  and  re- 
ligious references.  The  delect  may  be  that  his  object 
is  iatally  limited  and  exclusive ;  that  he  leaves  out 
the  most  important  of  all  duties  and  interests  of  an 
immortal  being,  and  trifles  with  them. 

In  our  exhortation  against  the  vanities  of  thought, 
we  are  regarding  a  man  in  his  general  whole  capa- 
city, as  related  to  this  world  and  the  next,  and  we  want 
him  to  acquire  some  measure  of  such  a  well-ordered 
habit  of  thought  as  directed  to  all  his  concerns.  In 
other  words,  that  as  a  Christian,  he  should  be  such,  in 
the  discipline  of  his  thinking,  as  some  men  are  in  ca- 
pacity of  worldly  schemers,  or  scholars,  or  philoso- 
phers. 

Now,  having  insisted  on  it  as  the  primary  point 
that  the  substantial  state  of  the  mind  must  be  cured  of 
vanity,  in  order  to  the  radical  correction  of  vain 
thoughts,  and  always  keeping  this  in  remembrance, 
can  we  suggest  any  particular  expedients  of  a  disci- 
pline ag;ainst  vain  thoughts  ?  We  must  ndt  for  a  mo- 
ment fancy  there  are  any  expedients  that  can  avail  in- 
dependently of  resolute  exertion.  There  is  no  dexter- 
ous device  to  obviate  an  evil  arising  from  a  habitual 
propensity  of  the  mind  :  especially  when  it  is  added 
that  a  habitual  propensity  will  have  been  in  some  de- 
gree habitually  indulged.  There  is  no  mental  wand 
of  enchantment  at  the  waving  of  which  the  infesting 
swarm  shall  suddenly  die,  and  the  grievance  cease. 
They  will  but  make  sport  of  any  single  act  or  signal 
for  scaring  them  away,  that  is  not  part  of  a  regular, 


CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.  123 

determined,  systematic  hostility.  But  as  parts  and 
expedients  in  such  a  regular  persevering  discipline, 
we  might  suggest  a  few  things  serviceable  to  the 
purpose. 

For  instance,  it  might  be  a  beneficial  thing  to  have 
certain  specified  subjects,  of  serious  interest,  to  turn 
to  when  thought  is  beginning  to  be  dissipated  into 
these  vanities;  certain  subjects  might  be  selected  and 
fixed  expressly  for  this  purpose.  This  might  be 
something  nearer^  as  it  were,  to  serve  to  the  purpose, 
than  the  merely  being  sensible  that  there  are  many 
important  subjects  to  w]|ich  I  might  turn  my  attention. 
There  is  a  grand  assemblage  to  select  from.  What  a 
reflection  here  on  the  folly  and  guilt  of  an  indulged 
vanity  of  thought !  General  important  truth  ofl'ers 
many  :  choose  any  one.  The  memory  of  matters  of 
fact.  Suppose  the  recollection  of  a  perilous  situation 
and  providential  interposition.  Or  the  remembrance 
of  a  dying  scene.  There  is  possibly  in  the  room,  the 
picture  of  a  dead  friend.  Conscience  offers  subjects  of 
thought;  for  example,  the  record  of  what  a  man 
judges  to  have  been  his  greatest  sin  !  If  turning  his 
mind  to  meet  this  dark  aspect,  will  not  check  and  sus- 
pend the  vain  career,  should  he  not  be  alarmed  at  such 
a  power  as  the  vanity  has  over  his  mind?  Should 
not  even  this  very  alarm  be  strong  enough  to  produce 
the  desired  eflfect? 

Another  very  simple  and  obvious  expedient  would 
be,  for  the  person  to  make  a  sudden  charge  ol"  guilt 
on  his  mind,  when  the  vain  thoughts  are  prevailing  ; 
that  is,  the  guilt  of  being  so  surrendered  to  them,  and 
let  that  charge  be  accompanied  and  enforced  by  the 
tliought  "  God  sees .'"  Just  as  one  has  seen  some- 
times the  levity  of  talk  interrupted  by  an  unexpected 
flash  of  lightning  and  clap  of  thunder.  If  a  man  has 
not  left  him  enough  of  conscience  and  right  will  to  do 
so  simple  a  thing  as  this,  what  a  pernicious  effect  he 
may  perceive  that  his  vanity  of  thought  has  had  !  that 
it  has  subdued  him,  reconciled  him  to  its  indulgence  ! 
If  to  do  this  is  of  no  avail,  what  should  he  think  then  ? 


121  CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

When  it  is  in  solitude  that  a  man  feels  this  plague 
inrestin<j  his  mind,  and  it  is  then  that  he  is  especially 
liable  to  it,  it  were  well  to  have  recourse  to  a  direct 
act  of  devotion.  "A  very  unfit  material,"  it  may  be 
said  "  are  such  thoughts  for  an  offering  to  the  Al- 
mighty." True,  but  the  sincere  petition  to  be  rid  of 
them  is  a  very  fit  offering.  And  that  presence  should 
be  peculiarly  the  situation  in  which  their  vanity  and 
their  evil  should  become  most  apparent.  Especially 
if  they  are  made  the  express  subject  of  terms  of  de- 
scription and  imprecation  addressed  to  Him.  How 
will  they  appear  when  we  co%irerse  with  God  concern- 
ing them  ?  That  converse  besides  may  infuse  ideas 
of  a  better  order,  adapted  to  repel  or  consume  the 
frivolous  ones.  For  we  want  ideas  of  a  mightier  or- 
der that  may  be  set  against  the  vanities.  As  if  eagles 
should  drive  away  the  lighter  tribes  of  the  air.  And 
where  should  we  obtain  these  mightier  ideas,  if  not  in 
the  divine  presence  ? 

The  course  of  vain  thoughts  might  sometimes  be  in- 
terrupted and  stopped,  by  the  question,  brought  to 
strike,  as  it  were,  suddenly  on  the  mind.  What  is,  just 
now^  my  most  pressing  duty  7  "  Why  it  ?'s" — ^judgment 
and  conscience  can  often  tell  in  one  word — what  it  is. 
"  Bat  here  now,  I  am  neglecting  it,  and  for  the  sake  of 
what?" 

Sometimes  a  good  temporary  resource  would  be  to 
go  directly  to  some  practical  occupation  ;  some  useful 
manual  operation  ;  the  adjustment  of  some  point  in  a 
matter  of  business  ;  or  if  leisure  permits,  a  short  visit 
to  some  house  of  mourning.  The  mind  may  thus,  in 
a  degree,  and  for  the  time,  be  diverted  from  vain 
thoughts  ;  iimay  baffle  and  evade  the  worthless  train 
that  was  beginning  its  race.  And  in  the  last  supposed 
resource,  the  visit,  a  stronger  perception  might  be  ac- 
quired of  the  impertinence  and  folly  of  such  mental 
vanities.  Some  of  them  may  be  recalled,  to  be  placed 
in  comparison  with  what  is  there  seen^ind  heard. 

As  a  general  and  habitual  expedient  of  correction, 
it  will  be  of  the  very  highest  use  and  importance,  to 


CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS.  125 

exercise  and  constrain  our  thinking  to  go  along  with 
the  thoughts  of  those  who  have  thought  the  best.  Of 
course  this  means  attentively  reading  the  most  valu- 
able books  ;  reading  so  as  to  take  hold  of  the  meaning, 
connexion,  and  design.  How  forcible  the  contrary  will 
be  felt  to  be,  and  the  reproach,  to  the  idle  nothings  of 
thought !  We  shall  be  made  to  perceive  to  what  ad- 
mirable purpose  the  thinking  faculty  can  be  worked, 
and  made  to  perceive  what  rubbish,  and  dust,  and 
nuisance  is  the  sort  of  thinking  into  which  an  ungov- 
erened  idle  spirit  will  trifle  and  rove  ! — Here  animad- 
vert on  the  prevailing  light  reading  of  the  times. — 
Speaking  of  such  vigorous  exercise  on  a  book,  we  may 
ask,  how  much  without  it  will  you  gain  from  the 
Bible? 

We  are  naturally  led  to  another  suggestion,  for  the 
reform  in  question,  namely,  the  importance  of  thinking 
to  a  certain  purpose,  towards  a  proposed  end.  It  is  a 
chief  characteristic  of  vain  thoughts,  that  they  are  not 
in  pursuit  and  progress  toward  any  assigned  object ; 
they  aim  at  nothing  and  come  to  nothing.  A  good 
question  to  arrest  them  will  be,  "  What  does  all  this 
tend  to?'^  But  reflect,  what  a  number  of  things  there 
are  which  we  had  need  to  aim  at  by  the  course  of 
thought,  in  those  portions  of  time  in  which  the  mind  is 
left  free  to  think.  Then  the  rule  is, — have  a  marked 
purpose  for  the  thoughts  to  be  directed  towards,  and 
let  their  direction  be  in  a  progress,  a  regulated  advance 
by  steps,  in  a  connected  train.  A  double  advantage  in 
this:  both  that  one  point  will  be  attained,  and  the 
habit  of  vain  thoughts  will  be  corrected.  Be  intent, 
in  such  a  progress,  on  the  reason,  the  why  and  where- 
fore. 

We  have  just  said  that  there  are  many  important 
things  which  we  should  aim  at,  by  ihe  course  and 
exercise  of  thought.  Now  it  will  tend  to  check  and 
shame  these  vanities, to  reflect  seriously  and  pointedly, 
in  the  very  midst  of  them,  how  utterly  worthless  they 
are  for  those  desirable  purposes  ;  how  many  things  we 
have  to  do  that  these  will  not  enable  us,  but  the  direct 


126  CORRECTIVES  OF  VAIN  THOUGHTS. 

contrary.  Then  the  mortifyingreflection,  which  cannot 
be  too  often  repeated  and  aggravated  :  "  What  they 
have  done  for  us  !"  There  have  been  milUons  of  them 
in  my  mind — and  what  result  ?  We  have  reiterated 
the  words  "atoms"  and  "  dust,"  as  types  of  their  worth- 
lessness;  but  atoms  and  dust  willin  length  of  time  form 
a  fruitful  soil ;  lava  has  been  so  covered.  Worse  then 
is  the  case  with  these  mental  vanities.  The  infinity  of 
them  never  deposits  a  material  of  fertility ;  and  they 
impoverish  and  blast  the  ground,  besides. 

Reflect  also  what  would  have  been  the  present  result 
of  so  many  good  and  pertinent  thoughts,  instead  of  so 
many  "vain  thoughts.." — If  a  tenth,  a  fiftieth  part  of 
the  number  ;  if  there  had  been  but  comparatively  a  few 
grains  of  gold  deposited  by  the  stream  that  has  carried 
BO  many  particles  of  mud  into  the  ocean!  "Good 
and  pertinent  thoughts;"  we  might  try  sometimes  and 
verify  the  difference  between  such  and  the  vain  ones. 
For  we  may  interrupt  those  vain  ones  to  consider  what 
would  be  the  best  thoughts  on  the  very  same  subject. 
What  would  have  been,  on  this  very  matter,  the  ideas 
of  this  or  the  other  wise  and  well-exercised  spirit? 
Sometimes  we  may  perhaps  recollect  what  they  actu- 
ally have  been.  It  were  a  good  expedient  to  repeat 
some  of  the  ideas  they  have  so  expressed  ;  and  then 
put  in  words  a  certain  portion  of  our  vain  thoughts ! 
But  even  without  such  a  comparison,  think  how  a  por- 
tion of  such  thoughts  would  sound  put  in  words  and 
spoken  aloud.  If  one  hour's  train  of  them  had  been  all 
spoken  aloud,  just  in  the  form  and  order  in  which  they 
were  suffered  to  run  !  And  if  a  small  company  were 
each  to  do  this,  what  a  community  of  wisdom  it  would 
make ! 

The  mention  of  "company"  reminds  us  that,  for  the 
discipline  of  the  thoughts,  a  great  deal  may  depend  on 
the  company  a  man  keeps.  "  He  that  walketh  with 
wise  men  shall  be  wise."  Proverbs  xiii.  20.  Society 
can  easily  be  found  in  which  every  vanity  of  the  soul 
may  be  indulged  and  confirmed ;  and  the  choosing  of 
it  by  preference  is  practically  saying,  that  all  this  con- 


NECESSITY  AND  RIGHT  METHOD,  ETC.  127 

cern  of  correction  and  improvement  may  go  to  the 
winds. 

If  it  is  objected  or  complained  that  such  a  represent- 
ation of  disciphnary  duty  involves  much  that  seems 
hard  and  difficult,  we  have  but  to  answer,  ''  Yes,  it  is 
just  as  hard  as  to  justice  to  a  rational  and  immortal 
spirit,  that  is  placed  here  a  little  while  for  its  improve- 
ment, and  then  must  go,  where  God  says  it  is  to  go." 
But  if  it  be  so  hard  and  yet  so  indispensable,  how  wel- 
come must  be  that  doctrine  which  promises  the  help 
of  an  almighty  Spirit,  and  invites  us  to  pray  for  it! 
What  man  in  the  exercise^  of  reason,  nay  in  but  the 
very  twilight  or  moonshine  of  reason,  will  not  exult  to 
embrace  such  a  doctrine,  if  he  really  cares  about  the 
progress  of  his  spirit  through  this  short  lii'e,  and  its  ap- 
pointment and  employments  in  another  world  '? 


NECESSITY    AND    RIGHT    METHOD    OF   SELF- 
EXAMINATION. 

"  Examine  yourselves  whether  ye  be  in  the  faith  ; 
prove  your  own  selves.  Know  ye  not  your  own  selves, 
how  that  Jesus  Christ  is  in  you,  except  ye  be  repro- 
bates?"— When  the  necessity  and  value  of  knowledge 
are  thought  of,  it  is  readily  admitted  that  self-know- 
ledge is  about  the  most  necessary  of  all.  From  of 
old  it  has  been  accounted  a  precept  of  the  highest 
wisdom,  "  Know  thyself." 

Might  we  not  then  wonder  a  little,  that  there  should 
not  be  more  of  this  knowledge  among  men,  and  more 
assiduity  to  acquire  it  ?  That  attention  should  be  so 
much  averted  from  this  concern'?  For  our  general 
belief  is, — that  there  is  but  little.  Is  not  this  the  no- 
lion  ?    In  a  numerons  assembly,  or  in  the  crowd  of  a 


128  NECESSITY  AND  RIGHT  METHOD 

city,  it  is  presumed,  by  any  one  that  happens  to  think 
of  it,  that  very  few,  among  the  numbers  round  him, 
have  a  deep,  comprehensive,  well-rectified,  steady, 
estimate  of  themselves, — a  true  insight.  The  presump- 
tion, or  surmise,  is  understood  to  go  even  as  far  as 
this  ;  that  suppose  any  number  of  persons,  acquainted 
with  one  another, — the  judgments  they  form  of  one 
another  would,  in  the  whole  account,  be  nearer  the 
truth  than  those  which  they  entertain  of  their  own 
selves,  notwithstanding  the  great  advantage  men 
have  for  knowing  themselves  better  than  others  can. 

But  if  the  case  be  so,  how  comes  it?  Can  it  be, 
that  they  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  apply  a  seri- 
ous attention  to  so  near  and  interesting  an  object? 
or  that  they  have  arbitrary  and  unsound  rules  in 
making  the  judgment?  or,  that  no  rules,  nor  force  of 
understanding,   can  preserve   their  rectitude  in  the 

f)resence  of  self-love,  as  if  they  softened,  melted,  and 
ost  their  edge,  in  making  their  way  through  that 
warm,  investing,  protective  passion  ?  Or  there  may 
be  a  reluctance  to  making  a  rigorous  scrutiny,  from 
fear,  and  thus  men  remain  in  ignorance.  There  may 
be  some  apprehension  of  finding  the  state  of  the  cas« 
less  satisfactory  than  the  man  is  allowing  himself  to 
assume  it.  This  may  seem  like  expressing  an  incon- 
sistency— that  a  man  will  not  know  what  lie  does 
know.  But  it  is  too  real  and  common  a  case  ;  intima- 
tions of  something  not  right  are  unwillingly  perceived  ; 
apprehension  of  Avhat  there  maybe  beneath  is  felt; 
a  man  would  rather  not  be  sure  of  the  whole  truth  ; 
would  wilfully  hope  for  the  best,  and  so  pass  off  from 
the  doubtful  subject,  afraid  to  go  too  far  inward 

But  here  is  a  most  remarkable  and  strange  specta- 
cle !  A  soul  afraid  of  itself! — afraid  of  being  deeply 
intimate  with  itself;  of  knowing  itself;  of  seeing  itseli'. 
It  is  easily  apprehended  how  a  human  spirit  might  be 
afraid  of  another  being, — of  another  spirit  in  a  human 
body  ;  apprehensive  in  being  near  it, — within  reach  of 
its  disposition,  qualities,  and  action, — afraid  to  see  and 
meet  the  corporeal  person  it  is  in ;  alarmed  at  what 


OF  SELF-EXAMINATION.  129 

there  may  be,  or  is  suspected  to  be,  in  that  spirit; 
shrink  from  approach,  communication,  or  any  lure  to 
confidence.  "  1  have  a  perception  of  evil  omen ;  a  silent 
warning  of  danger ;  there  is  possible  ruin  to  me  in 
that  spirit." 

It  is  easy  to  apprehend  that  a  human  soul  might  be 
afraid  of  a  disembodied  spirit,  evincing  its  presence 
by  voice  or  appearance  ;  if  it  seemed  to  attend  a  man 
in  his  solitary  walk,  or  to  be  a  temporary  visitant  in 
his  apartment.  It  would  be  an  awful  companionship  ! 
— the  revealed  proximit}^  of  the  other  world  ;  dark 
mystery  personified — a  being  presented  as  if  in  an 
equivocal  conjunction  of  life  and  death;  with  powers 
unknown, — and  which  the  mortal  can  meet  with  no 
similar  powers !  All  this,  on  the  supposition  that  it 
were  a  departed  human  spirit.  More  than  this,  if  it 
were  deemed  a  spirit  of  mightier  order. 

Such  fear  of  other  beings  would  seem  natural 
enough.  But  think  of  a  human  soul  in  dread  of  itself ! 
having  had  some  glimpses  of  itself,  afraid  to  meet  its. 
own  full  visage — afraid  to  stay  wiih  itself,  alone,  still, 
and  attentive — afraid  of  intimate  communication,  lest 
the  soul  should  speak  out  from  its  inmost  recesses ! 
All  the  while,  what  it  is  afraid  of  is  its  own  very  self, 
from  which  it  is  every  where  and  for  ever  inseparable  ! 
A  man  uneasy  and  apprehensive  in  a  local  situation, 
or  in  the  presence  of  other  men,  may  think  of  escape ; 
but  in  his  own  soul !  there  he  is,  and  is  to  be  perpetually. 
Then  what  a  predicament,  when  a  man,  directly  and 
immediately  as  being  in  himself,  feels  the  apprehension 
of  evil  and  danger  I — feels  in  the  presence  of  some- 
thing he  dreads  to  abide  with,  and  would  fly  from ; 
would  be  glad  to  separate  by  a  partition — or  veil.  So 
that  be  where  he  may,  with  other  persons  or  alone,  he 
has  still  the  inevitable  presence,  with  him  and  in  him, 
of  something  with  which  he  cannot  be  at  ease  in  trust- 
ing himself 

We  were  led  into  this  digression  by  observing,  that 
one  cause  of  the  deficiency  of  self-knowledge  is  a  fear 
12 


130  NECESSITY  AND  RIGHT  METHOD 

of  having  the  full  truth  disclosed.  But  now  think  a 
moment  ot  the  absurd  and  pernicious  operation  of  such 
fear.  To  fear  that  there  may  be  or  is  something 
incompatible  with  safety,  and  therefore  decline  ascer- 
taining it !  To  fear  that  the  suspected  evil  may  reach 
furtheT  and  deeper  than  the  signs  distinctly  betray, — 
tlierefore  be  careful  to  keep  tha  alarm  less  than  the 
evil  may  be!  To  fear  the  suspected  evil  in  reference 
to  its  ultimate  effects  and  consequences  ;  and  rather  to 
venture  those  consequences  than  firmly  look  to  see 
whether  we  are  approaching  them  !  Not  to  be  willing 
to  see  how  near  is  the  precipice  !  In  short,  to  resign 
and  abandon  ourselves  to  be  all  that  we  fear, — rather 
than  encounter  the  self-manifestation  and  the  discipline 
necessary  for  a  happy  change  ! 
But  let  us  still  enforce  the  necessity  ofself-examination. 
Let  us  consider  that  every  one  actually  stands  placed 
against  a  standard  unseen,  but  real — that  by  which 
God  judges, — and  marks  the  spiritual  state  of  every 
one — the  eternal  law — the  rule  of  Christian  character. 
Every  one  stands  in  some  certain,  precise,  discrimi- 
nated, relation  to  this  grand  rule  of  judgment.  That 
is  his  true  and  exact  condition.  Think  of  all  our  assem- 
bly thus  placed,  ascertained,  and  judged  !  If  the  fact 
could  be  an  object  of  sight !  or  signified  by  some  paral- 
lel manifestation  to  sight!  If  it  were  so, — whatever 
inquisitiveness  each  might  feel  respecting  the  rest, 
surely  his  own  marked  state  would  be  the  chief  object 
of  his  eager  attention.  Well,  but  should  it  be  less  so 
when  he  considers  and  knows  it  is  so  discriminated, 
marked,  signed,— in  the  sight  of  God  ?— that  there  is 
the  standard, — and  some  certain  degree  upon  it  is  his 
degree  ?  Is  there  any  thing  in  the  world  so  important 
for  him  to  know ;  not  with  the  infallible  precision 
which  belongs  to  the  judgment  of  God  alone,  but 
with  a  substantial  conformity  to  truth?  There  is  a 
manifestation  of  the  divine  rule— and  there  is  hirnself 
to  bring,  with  all  his  consciousness,  into  comparison 
with  it.    The  state  he  is  in,  by  the  decision  of  that 


OF  SELF-EXAMINATION.  131 

rule,  is  the  state  of  his  relations  with  all  that  is  the 
most  solemn,  in  heaven  and  earth,  in  time  and  eternity 
Therefore,  "know  your  own  selves." 

Let  lis  briefly  notice  the  objects  of  self-examination. 
We  might  ask  a  man,  "  What  are  you  most  concerned 
to  know  of  yourself?  Is  it  your  leading  point  to  as- 
certain something  in  which  you  hope  for  a  gratifica- 
tion of  your  vanity  or  pride  ?  the  measure  of  your 
talent,  your  qualifications  to  shine  ?  your  merits  as 
contrasted  with  the  unworthiness,  or  even  the  excel- 
lence, of  other  men  ?  your  ability  and  claims  to  main- 
tain competition  with  ihem  ?"  Instead  of  this,  we 
would  advise — Examine  in  that  as  to  which  you  are 
naturally  the  least  inclined  to  examine  yourselves  ; — 
that  respecting  which  you  are  the  most  afraid  to  exam- 
ine ; — that  which  you  find  self-love  constantly  endea- 
vouring to  draw  a  veil  over; — that  which,  whenever 
you  do  turn  the  inspection  that  way, — begins  to  throw 
reproach  and  humihation;  that  which  you  most  feel  you 
need  to  know  when  you  approach  the  throne  of  God  ; — 
that,  any  uncertainty  about  which  awakens  the  most 
solicitude  and  apprehension  whenever  you  think  of 
death , — that  which  forces  itself  on  your  attention  when 
you  think  what  the  inhabitants  of  heaven  must  be. 

The  earnest  force  of  this  examination  should  fix  on 
the  points  named  by  the  apostle — "  whether  ye  be  in 
the  faith" — whether  "Jesus  Chirist  be  in  you."  He 
was  indeed  aiming  at  a  particular  point  in  these  ques- 
tions :  Had  they  not  proof  of  his  being  a  true  apostle 
of  Christ ;  and  his  having  brought  to  them  the  real 
rehgion  of  Christ ;  had  they  not  proof  in  their  own 
personal  Christianity?  But  his  appeal  equally  en- 
forced the  question,  whether  they  had  a  personal  ex- 
perience of  Christianity.  Let  then  the  self-examiner's 
earnest  inquisition  be  directed  to  this  great  point — 
"  whether  "  he  "  be  in  the  faith ;"  whether  he  is  de- 
cidedly more  than  a  cold  assenting  believer  in  the 
Christian  doctrines.  That  a  man  may  be,  and  yet 
at  the  same  time  be  in — may  be  vitally  and  actively 
in— a  spirit  opposite  to  all  these  heavenly  truths.    But 


132  NECESSITY  AND  RIGHT  METHOD 

— in  the  faith?  so  in  it  as  to  be  powerfully  withdrawn 
and  withheld  from  the  spirit  and  dominion  of  the 
world? — encircled— separated — guarded  ?  So  in  it — 
as  to  have  an  habitual  prevailing  order  of  views,  feel- 
ings, motives,  preferences,  purposes,  created  and 
animated  by  it  ?  So  in  it,  as  to  be  in  a  cordial  and 
zealous  league  with  its  faithful  adherents  ? 

The  other  form  of  expression  for  the  same  thing  is, 
"  that  Jesus  Christ  is  in  you."  He  may  be  in  the 
thoughts  as  a  commanding  object  of  contemplation. 
The  question  for  examination  will  be, — Is  he  so  1  He 
may  be  in  the  affections — the  object  of  love,  and  of 
awful  reverence.  Is  he  so?  He  may  be  in  the  con- 
science, as  an  authority.  He  may  be  in  the  soul,  in 
the  sense  that  somewhat  of  his  likeness,  his  image,  is 
impressed  upon  it.  He  may,  in  short,  be  established 
in  the  soul — in  theory,  in  vital  interest,  in  exclusive 
reliance,  and  in  hope — as  its  sole,  and  all-sufficient, 
and  almighty  Redeemer.  Thus  he  shall  be  in  the 
goul  as  an  indwelling  presence,  without  which  it  were 
lifeless  and  hopeless  ;  by  which,  it  is  alive  to  God, 
and  looks  forward  to  eternal  felicity.  Now,  whether 
this  6e,  in  some  good  measure  the  case,  is  matter  pre- 
eminently for  self-examination.  In  all  such  important 
points,  let  men  beware  of  assuming,  without  the  pro- 
cess of  "  proving." 

It  should  be  superfluous  to  name  the  necessity  of  a 
distinct,  strong,  steady,  apprehension  of  the  pure  stand- 
ard fixed  by  the  divine  authority.  But  how  little  is 
this  recognized  among  the  multitude  amenable  to  it! 
It  is  as  if  the  tables  written  on  Sinai  had  been  subject- 
ed to  be  passed  through  the  camp,  for  the  people  to 
revise,  interpolate,  erase,  or  wholly  substitute,  at  their 
pleasure.  Never  Jesuit's  commentary  on  the  Bible 
falsified  it  more,  than  the  world's  system  of  principles 
perverts  or  supplants  that  of  the  Almighty.  This 
operation  began  even  in  Eden,  through  "  the  wisdom 
that  is  from  beneath,"  and  has  continued  ever  since. 

Nor  would  we  dwell  on  the  necessity  of  a  habit  of 
reflection.     There  does  seem  to  be  a  great  defect  in 


OF  SELF-EXAMINATION.  133 

this  point,  even  in  the  religious  community.  Is  it  not  too 
evident,  that  people's  attention  and  thought  mainly  go 
outward?  insomuch  that  retiring  micard  would  belike 
retreating  into  a  narrow,  dark,  desolate,  comfortless 
apartment  of  a  house,  or  into  a  prison  or  a  cavern. 
But  there  can  be  no  effective  self-examination  without 
a  resolute  and  often  repeated  effort  to  retire  inward, 
and  stay  awhile,  and  pointedly  inspect  what  is  there. 

Self-examination  should  not  expend  its  chief  exer- 
cise on  the  mere  external  conduct;  for  if  that  alone,  in 
its  simple  gross  sense,  were  to  be  taken  account  of,  a 
well  regulated  formalist  or  Pharisee,  nay  possibly  a 
hypocrite,  might  go  off  with  considerable  self-compla- 
cency. However  bad  the  state  of  the  world  is  in  prac- 
tical morality,  it  is  unquestionable  that  if  we  could  for 
a  moment  suppose  the  Sovereign  Judge  to  pronounce, 
separately  and  exclusively,  on  the  external  moral  state 
collectively,  and  on  the  internal  state, — the  latter  sen- 
tence would  be  far,  very  far,  the  graver  and  the  dark- 
er. There  are  persons  innumerable  who,  if  they  might 
be  allowed  to  separate  and  choose,  would  instantly  and 
eagerly  prefer  standing  their  reward  on  the  ground  of 
their  external  conduct,  to  that  of  their  internal  state  ; 
supposing  them  to  see  that  state  in  its  true  light.  You 
can  imagine  that  often  a  man  has  been  frightened  out  of 
his  soul  to  take  refuge  in  the  apparently  better  quality  of 
his  conduct.  Any  impulse  the  examiner  feels  to  do  so, 
should  warn  him  to  stay  awhile  longer  there — in  the 
interior.  It  is  especially  there  that  the  great  substance 
lies  of  what  is  wrong,  or  right,  as  towards  God.  All 
this  however  does  not  mean  that  the  external  itself  can 
be  essentially  right,  though  formally  and  technically 
so,  any  further  than  the  state  of  the  mind  is  right. 

Self-examination  should  be  exercised  on  a  principle 
of  independence,  in  a  considerable  degree,  on  the 
opinions,  the  estimates,  of  others.  It  is  true,  that  good 
use  may  be  made  of  those  opinions,  whether  favoura- 
ble or  hostile — and  others'  opinions  of  us  may  some- 
times be  more  just  than  our  own.  But  consider  never- 
theless how  those  opinions  may  have  a  wrong  effect, 
12* 


134  NECESSITY  AND  RIGHT  METHOD 

— in  two  ways.  Suppose  they  are  partial  and  favoura- 
ble, to  a  highly  flattering  degree.  What  then  ?  The 
testimonies  of  partiality  and  approbation, — the  praise, 
the  flattery, — perhaps  the  admiration, — will  not  the 
man  be  mightily  inclined  to  take  all  this  for  just,  even 
to  the  utmost  point?  Will  his  self-love  sound  a  less 
musical  strain  in  his  ear  ?  If  even  he  had  doubted 
before,  to  assume  so  much  in  his  own  favour,  will  he 
not  confidently  assume  it  now  ?  His  faults  will  shrivel, 
his  excellencies  will  expand,  to  the  dimensions  of  so 
flattering  an  estimate.  He  will  willingly  forget  to  con- 
sider, how  much  of  circumstance  or  fancy  there  may 
be  in  this  partiality;  and  how  much  there  is  in  him 
that  the  partial  judges  cannot  know.  But  suppose  the 
contrary  case, — unfavourable  opinion — suspicion — cen- 
sure— depreciation, — What  then  ?  Then,  an  excite- 
ment of  all  the  defensive  feelings !  Then,  all  these 
censures  are  from  ignorance,  perverseness,  or  perhaps 
even  from  jealousy  and  envy !  He  cherishes  the  more 
his  beloved  self,  thus  suffering  injustice ;  with  an  ex- 
tenuation of  what  cannot  be  altogether  denied,  and  a 
forced  magnifying  of  supposed  worthier  characteris- 
tics. There  is,  therefore,  a  necessity  for  cool,  deliber- 
ate independence  of  judgment.  This  will  be  promoted 
by  a  solemn  sense  of  standing  before  the  judgment  of 
God, — the  grand  requisite  in  all  self-examination. 
What  does  that  all-searching  infallible  Intelligence  see 
and  detect? — In  that  presence,  repute,  pretensions, 
semblances,  presumptions,  excuses,  clear  away.  There 
the  self-examiner — if  he  will  stay  there  long  enough 
in  seriousness  and  simplicity — is  reduced  to  the  very 
truth.  And  that  this  is  the  case  is  one  cause  of  the 
too  prevaihng  reluctance  to  frequent  that  presence. 
This  reluctance  must  be  overcome ;  that  is,  at  least, 
practically  so.  Amidst  all  his  slighter  judgments  of 
himself,  or  others'  opinions  of  him,  he  should  still  be 
remembering  and  saying,  "  1  have  to  take  myself  un- 
der another  inspection,"  and  should  often  do  so. 

The  self-examiner  should  avail  himself  of  the  circum- 
stances, incidents,  occasions,  and  seasons,  which  may 


OF  SELF-EXAMINATION.  135 

aid  to  reveal  him  to  himself.  These  things  throw  tran- 
sient lights  on  his  internal  principles;  they  come  upon 
his  soul  by  a  kind  of  surprise,  and  take  it  unprepared 
with  its  undefensive  fallacies.  His  mind  comes  out 
simply  and  unawares  for  a  moment.  Let  him  observe 
how  he  is  affecied,  for  instance,  by  some  sudden  cause 
of  fear  ; — by  some  seizure  of  bodily  distemper  ;  by 
some  instance  of  death  near  him  ; — by  some  flagrant 
display  of  irrehgion ;— by  some  signal  fall  and  dis- 
grace in  a  professor  of  religion; — by  some  one's  ac- 
knowledging, with  grief  and  terror,  perhaps  in  a  last 
illness  that  he  had  been  but  deceiving  himself  with  a 
vain  form  of  religion.  At  the  occurrence  of  such 
things,  the  soul  will  sometimes  give  a  sudden,  involun- 
tary intimation  of  its  state.  Such  emotions  should  be 
recorded  and  remembered,  as  well  as  observed — and 
such  hints  and  signs  should  be  followed  up, — should 
lead  to  investigation. 

It  is  a  proper  admonition,  that  slight  symptoms, 
what  may  seem  so,  should  not  be  disregarded.  Say, 
"How  happens  that?  what  may  it  indicate?"  In 
medical  science,  what  seem  slight  symptoms  are  some- 
times regarded  as  of  great  significance ;  the  skilful 
judge  is  struck  by  their  recurrence  as  indications  of 
something  serious,  and  as  deciding  what  it  is. 

But  the  self-examiner  should  take  a  comprehensive 
account,  combining  Ihe  many  matters  of  indication  and 
proof.  For  if  he  shall  content  himself  with  selecting 
only  some  particular  points,  his  self-partiality  will  al- 
most be  certain  to  choose  those  which  seem  the  most- 
favourable  ;  and  he  may  be  betrayed  to  make  these 
the  interpreters  of  all  the  rest,  or  the  substitutes. 

Let  him  especially  beware  of  making  some  mere 
doctrinal  point  the  great  test  and  assurance,  in  self-de- 
fence under  the  absence  of  immediate  experimental 
and  practical  evidence. — Conversation  between  Crom- 
well and  Dr.  Goodwin. 

It  should  be  strongly  enforced  that  doubt,  that  un- 
certainty, ought  to  be  a  powerful  incentive  to  self-ex- 
amination.    For  surely,  the  chief  questions  in  the  con- 


136     USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

cern  cannot  be  decided  too  soon.  Indeed,  to  be  con- 
tent to  remain  in  doubt  would  itself  be  one  of  the  most 
ominous  signs.  If  the  true  state  of  the  case  be  unhap- 
py and  unsafe,  it  should  be  distinctly  seen,  that  the  soul 
may  be  instantly  in  action.  If  the  state  be  on  the 
whole  such  as  the  Supreme  Judge  approves,  and  safe 
for  time  and  eternity, — who  would  not  in  this  evil 
world  desire  to  possess  the  joy  of  knowing  it  to  be  so  ? 


XV. 

USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

"  The  gentiles having  not  the  law  are  a  law  un- 
to themselves :  which  show  the  work  of  the  law  wjitten 
in  their  hearts,  their  conscience  also  bearing  witness 
and  their  thoughts  the  meanwhile  accusing  or  else  ex^ 
cusing  one  another.'''^ — "  Having  not  the  law,"  that  is- 
without  a  positive  law  revealed  from  God :  yet  there 
is  "  a  law  written  in  their  hearts."  The  apostle 
therefore  asserts,  that  man  is  essentially,  by  his  very 
nature,  a  moral  being ;  naturally  has  some  sense  of 
right  and  wrong ;  which  moral  sense  operates  to  two 
effects ;  opinions,  judgments  which  men  form  of  one 
another  ;  and  judgments,  under  the  name  of  "  con- 
science," which  they  are  compelled  to  form  of  them- 
selves. 

This  natural  sense  of  difference  between  good  and 
evil  is  made  an  inseparable  companion  and  supple- 
ment to  the  endowment  of  reason.  If  there  had  not 
been  this  principle  in  the  very  constitution  of  man,  it  is 
not  conceivable  how  any  positive  dictates  from  the 
Creator  and  Governor  could  have  sufficed  to  impart 
it ;  that  is,  in  the  form  of  conscience.  This  natural 
principle  has  certain  perceptions  and  powers  antece- 


USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE.   137 

dently  to  the  revealed  will  of  God.  But,  the  dictates 
of  that  Supreme  Authority  having  been  given,  this 
conscience  ought  to  be  indefinitely  stronger,  truer,  and 
more  decisive. 

A  most  important  principle  in  our  nature,  is  this 
conscience,  which  places  us  in  a  sensible  connexion 
with  the  government  of  the  world.  The  whole  world 
is  under  a  solemn  economy  of  government  and  judg- 
ment. A  mighty  spirit  of  judgment  is  in  sovereign  ex- 
ercise over  all,  discerning,  estimating,  approving,  or 
condemning.  Now  it  was  requisite  there  should  be 
something  in  the  soul  to  recognize  this  ;  that  it  should 
not  be  as  some  vague  unperceived  element  around 
us ;  and  something  more  and  deeper  than  the  imere 
simple  understanding  that  such  is  the  fact ;  a  faculty 
to  be  impressed,  to  feel  obligation,  and  awe,  and  sol- 
emn apprehension;  something  by  which  the  mind 
shall  be  compelled  to  admit  the  indwelling  of  what 
represents  a  greater  power.  Conscience  is  to  com- 
municate with  something  mysteriously  great,  which  is 
without  the  soul,  and  above  it,  and  every  where.  It  is 
the  sense,  more  explicit  or  obscure,  of  standing  in 
judgment  before  the  Almighty.  That  which  makes  a 
man  feel  so,  is  a  part  of  himself ;  so  that  the  struggle 
against  God  becomes  a  struggle  with  man's  own  soul. 
Therefore  conscience  has  often  been  denominated 
"the  God  in  man." 

This  internal  judge  has  not  been  in  the  world  alto- 
gether in  vain.  Let  it  but  be  imagined  how  many 
men  have  wished  they  could  be  rid  of  it.  Let  it  be 
imagined  with  how  many  men  it  has  interfered  to  dis- 
turb and  oppose  them.  Now  in  most  of  that  vast  mul- 
titude of  cases  it  maybe  presumed  that  conscience  has 
had  some  restraining  effect.  It  maintained  a  contro- 
versy with  them  ;  arrested  them  ;  followed  them  ; 
warned  them  ;  threatened  them  ;  rose  up  in  them  sud- 
denly, at  times,  to  protest  or  condemn  in  the  name  of 
a  higher  power.  Perhaps  in  no  case  this  could  be 
wholly  without  effect.  The  infinite  multitude  of  crim- 
inals would  have  been  still  more  criminal  but  for  this. 


138     USES  A^D  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

It  has  often  struck  an  irresolution,  a  timidity,  into  the 
sinner,  by  which  his  intention  has  been  frustrated.  Its 
bitter  and  vindictive  reproaches  after  sin,  have  pre- 
vented so  speedy  or  frequent  repetitions  of  the  sin.  It 
has  prevented  the  whole  man  from  being  gratified  by 
sin  ;  it  has  been  one  dissentient  power  among  his  fac- 
ulties, as  if,  among  a  company  of  gay  revellers,  there 
should  appear  one  dark  and  frowning  intruder,  whom 
they  could  neither  conciliate  nor  expel.  It  has  been 
at  hand  to  approve,  attest,  apply,  the  divine  declara- 
tions, commands,  reproofs,  and  warnings,  when  sin- 
ners have  heard  them.     It  has  struck  on  the  soul,  and 

said  "  Listen  to  that ! ^/lai  belongs  to  thee  .'"     An 

ally,  therefore,  in  men's  own  minds,  to  co-operate  wnth 
those  who  have  faithfully  spoken  in  the  name  of  God. 
It  has  served  as  an  interpreter  of  divine  judgments 
with  which  men  have  been  visited  ;  not  allowed  them 
to  be  taken  as  mere  natural  incidents  and  phenomena, 
but  judicial  and  retributive.  In  many  ways,  there- 
fore, it  has  been  the  justifier  of  God  to  men's  own 
minds;  the  justifier  also  of  the  genuine  people  of  God. 
It  has  often  compelled  confessions  and  disclosures  of 
great  importance  to  truth  and  justice.  Very  generally, 
in  the  last  scene  of  life,  it  has  constrained  men,  even 
bad  and  irreligious  men,  to  give  explicit  solemn  testi- 
mony to  the  reality  of  religion,  and  the  guilt  and 
wretchedness  of  trifling  with  it. 

But  better  than  all  this  ;  the  force  of  conscience  has 
often  been  made  effectual  to  urge  men  lo  a  persever- 
ing application  to  divine  mercy ;  with  a  grateful  ac- 
cordance to  the  method  of  that  mercy,  as  acting 
through  the  mediation  of  Christ.  The  guilt  is  too 
deep  for  divine  justice  to  pardon. — There  must  be  some 
grand  expedient  as  a  medium  of  mercy — and  here  it 
is.  The  virtue,  and  value,  and  glory  of  conscience 
have  also  been  manifested  in  its  habitual  predomi- 
nance in  the  spirit  and  conduct  of  good  men.  A  good 
conscience  has  been  the  source  of  unspeakable  com- 
placency and  delight ;  it  has  been  mighty  in  trial  and 
temptation ;  consolatory  under  injustice,  reproach,  and 


USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE.      139 

undeserved  ignominy ;  a  sublime  energy  under  perse- 
cution for  fidelity  to  God. 

Thus  far  we  have  the  more  favourable  view  of  the 
office  and  efficacy  of  conscience.  But  there  is  a  dark- 
er side  of  the  subject; — the  view  of  its  perversions  and 
frustration.  One  most  disastrous  circumstance  is  in- 
stantly presented  to  our  thoughts,  namely,  that  with 
by  far  the  greatest  number  of  men  that  have  lived, 
conscience  has  been  separated  from  all  true  know- 
ledge of  God.  All  heathens,  of  all  ages  and  countries  ; 
with  but  little  limitation  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
Mohammedans ;  and  to  a  very  great  extent  it  is  true 
of  the  papists.  Now,  God  is  both  the  essential  author- 
ity of  conscience,  and  the  model  for  its  rectitude. 
What  is  its  condition  then,  where  the  One  True  God 
is  lost  from  human  knowledge?  and  instead, — an 
infinite  tribe  of  deities,  beheved  or  fancied,  and  wor- 
shipped ;  their  characters  exemplifying  all  varieties  of 
iniquity ;  their  wills  dictating  a  contusion  of  all  ab- 
surdities and  abominations,  blended,  indeed,  with 
some  better  things,  which  are  spoiled  and  defeated  in 
such  combination.  Or  paganism  being  disclaimed, 
there  is  an  essentially  falsified  notion  of  the  Divine 
Being,  and  a  perverted  apprehension  of  his  will. 
Think  what  an  authority  for  conscience  to  acknow- 
ledge and  represent,  and  to  be  strong  and  just  in  vir- 
tue of!  What  will  be  its  allowances, — its  dictates,  its 
sanctions  ?  What  should  it  do  but  correspond  to  its 
authorities  ?  With  a  firm  belief  in  the  true  God,  but 
with  a  wrong  apprehension  of  some  great  principle 
relative  to  him,  conscience  may  become  the  abettor, 
and  even  prompter,  of  the  most  flagrant  iniquities  ;  as 
in  the  instance  of  Paul,  and  some  of  the  persecutions 
and  exterminations  by  the  papists.  "  He  that  killeth 
you  shall  think  he  doeth  God  service."  A  perpetra- 
tor in  the  Bartholomew  massacre  said,  "  God  was 
obliged  to  me  that  day."  We  need  do  no  more  than 
just  name  the  immense  account  of  idle  superstitions,  in 
rites  of  worship,  on  which  conscience  has  fixed  its 
most  peremptory  injunction.     Whole  days  would  not 


140      USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OP  CONSCIENCE. 

suffice  to  enumerate  even  those  within  the  "  Christian 
world."  Conscience  has  often  been  beguiled  to  admit 
trifling  ceremonies  as  an  expiation  ol"  great  sins, — or 
of  a  whole  life  of  iniquity  ;  when,— had  it  been  in  its 
riglit  state,  it  would  have  shaken  the  whole  soul,  aa 
with  an  earthquake. 

If  such  notices  be  httle  applicable  to  us,  there  are 
however  many  that  are  most  seriously  so.  One  impor- 
tant admonition  is, — that  conscience  may  suft'er  itself 
to  be  very  much  conformed  to  prevailing  customs  and 
notions.  That  which  has  the  concurrence  of  so  many 
to  think,  and  say,  and  practise,  is  easily  allowed  to 
become  a  standard  ;  not  it  is  acknowledged  a  rigid  and 
perfectly  justifying  one,  but  one  that  may  excuse.  In 
spreading  and  becoming  attenuated  over  the  multitude, 
a  censure  becomes  as  nothing.  Conscience,  that  ought 
ever  to  be  looking  to  the  throne  and  law  of  God,  may 
be  degraded  to  this  most  irreligious  homage  to  man. 
It  has  glimpses  sometimes  indeed,  and  menacing  inti- 
mations of  a  higher  authority  and  law;  but  sutlers  a 
willing  relapse,  a  habitual  acquiescence.  So  that  the 
superior  and  eternal  order  of  principles  is  nearly  out 
of  sight,  as  in  some  countries  they  rarely  see  the  sun 
or  the  stars.  When  at  moments,  conscience  does 
attempt  to  resume  a  little  of  the  genuine  spirit  and 
principles  of  its  office,  it  is  solicited  to  look  out  on  the 
world,  not  the  most  wicked  part  of  the  world,  but  what 
may  be  esteemed  a  decorous  and  somewhat  respect- 
able part  of  it,  and  see  whether  the  common  notions, 
estimates,  and  practices,  do  not  warrant  in  me,  that 
which  it  is  disposed  to  accuse.  Le  me  be  tried  by  my 
peers  !  The  consequence  is  as  if  conscience  grew 
ashamed,  and  became  silent — felt  itself  convicted  of 
being  a  Puritan  ! 

Observe  the  next  consequence,  when  this  false  sys- 
tem is  settled  in  the  mind,  as  right  or  nearly  so, — it  is 
only  thence,  only  beyond  that  which  general  custom 
warrants,  that  conscience  has  to  begin  its  jurisdiction 
and  operations,  that  is,  it  will  have  nothing  or  little  to 
take  account  of,  short  of  positive  vices  and  crimes. 


USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE.      141 

Therefore  it  will  begin  with  slight  censures  at  a  point 
where  very  grave  ones  ought  to  have  been  pronounced. 
Supposing  the  whole  of  what  the  divine  law  condemns, 
and  therefore  conscience  ought  to  be  measured  by  a 
scale  of  one  hundred  degrees  of  aggravation, — then  the 
censure  beginning  atone,  will  become  extremely  severe 
by  the  time  of  rising  to  fifty. — But  let  this  first  fifty  be 
struck  off,  as  harmless,  in  accommodation  to  the  gen- 
eral notions  and  customs, — what  then  ?  Why  then, — 
conscience  will  but  begin,  and  in  slight  terms,  its  cen- 
sures at  the  fifty-first  degree,  and  so,  at  the  very  top  of 
the  scale,  will  pronounce  with  but  just  that  emphasis 
which  was  due  at  the  point  where  it  began.  An  ex- 
emplification of  the  effect  of  taking  common  notions 
and  prevailing  custom  as  the  standard,  is  given  in  Bo- 
naparte's estimate  of  himself. 

Conscience  is  extremely  liable  to  be  accommodated 
to  each  man's  own  interests,  passions,  and  tastes. 
These  are  the  constant  favourites  of  the  man's  heart; 
while  his  conscience  is  often  an  unwelcome  indweller 
there.  What  will  he  not  do  to  reconcile  it  or  make  it 
submit  to  them?  For  them  he  will  not  part  with, — 
and  it  perhaps  he  finds  he  cannot^ — at  least  not  speed- 
ily. He  has  great  advantages  against  his  conscience. 
The  favourite  interest  or  inclination  he  sets  in  the 
fairest  light ;  in  excuse,  he  recalls  the  circumstances 
that  contributed  to  make  it  ascendant  in  him ,  pallia- 
tions of  what  is  wrong  in  it  multiply  ;  it  is  far  less  cul- 
pable than  many  things  in  others  which  they  think  very 
venial.  He  has  this  and  the  other  good  thing  to  make 
a  great  overbalance.  But  also  the  thing  excepted  to  by 
his  conscience  is  far  from  being  wholly  wrong.  The 
degree  in  which  it  is  right  is  easily  magnified  to  appear 
the  much  greater  proportion  j  there  is  such  and  such 
good  to  which  it  will  turn  to  account.  Now  it  is  not 
strange  if,  by  this  time,  his  conscience  has  come  to 
speak  in  a  much  more  submissive  voice.  And  melan- 
choly as  the  fact  is,  there  are  few  things  that  gratify 
a  corrupt  mind  more  than  to  have  gained  a  victory 
over  conscience. 

13 


142     USES  AND  PBRVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience  in  a  great  degree  may  be  turned,  by 
effort  and  art,  from  the  scrutiny  of  internal  principles, 
to  a  judgment  on  bare  external  actions.  Tlie  actions, 
taken  simply  as  such,  may  have  far  less  to  be  con- 
demned than  the  internal  principles;  perhaps  are 
laudable.  Now  conscience,  by  having  its  dwelling 
deep  within,  has  a  great  advantage  as  a  judge,  in  com- 
parison of  outward  observers.  It  is  seated  with  its 
kmp,  down  in  the  hidden  world,  among  the  vital  sen- 
timents and  movements,  at  the  radical  depth  of  the 
dispositions,  at  the  very  springs  of  action,  among  the 
thoughts,  motives,  intentions,  and  wishes.  The  greater 
the  grievance  '.—But  how  to  obviate  it?  Expedients 
are  not  wanting.  Labour  to  think,  that  what  is  prac- 
tical is  of  far  greater  importance  than  what  exists  mere- 
ly in  feelings  and  thoughts.  Say,  feelings  and  thoughts 
are  varying  and  transient;  actions  are  of  much  more 
substantial  and  permanent  account.  Say,  these  prin- 
ciples within  do  injury  to  none ;  the  right  actions  do 
much  good.  These  thoughts  and  movements  within 
are  much  involuntary;  the  outward  conduct  is  the 
result  of  will  and  effort.  Look  so  much  on  the  best 
parts  of  the  right  conduct,  as  to  become  emboldened 
to  make  the  inference — "the  case  is  not  so  wrong 
within  as  conscience  had  attempted  to  charge,"  for 
"  by  their  fruits  shall  men  be  known."  Thus  in  a 
measure  may  conscience  be  beguiled  out  of  its  inward 
watching  place,  to  be  content  to  look  only  at  the  out- 
side. 

When  conscience  is  seriously  alarmed, — it  may  be 
quieted  by  delusive  applications.  There  are  painful 
emotions  of  guilt ;  the  dreadful  sound  of  the  maledic- 
tions of  the  divine  law;  dread  of  the  righteous  inflic- 
tions of  the  Almighty.  O  that  faithful  truth,  and  an 
invincible  power  of  impression,  might  come  on  con- 
science at  such  a  time  !— But  how  often  all  this  is  ren- 
dered in  vain  \—thus:  "  there  will  be  time  enough  yet 
for  repentance,  reformation,  and  final  escape."  Or 
sometimes  sophistical  reasonings  to  invahdate  every 
formidable  idea  of  the  divine  justice.   Sometimea  these 


USES  AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE.     143 

alarms  are  calmed  and  frustrated  by  treacherous  pre- 
sumptions as  to  the  way  of  propitiating  the  Divine 
Justice;  men  may  reconcile  God  by  repentance,  "I 
have  only  to  be  sorry,  and  all  will  be  set  right ;"  satisfy 
his  demands  by  a  reformed  conduct ;  secure  final  safety 
by  a  careful  obedience,  instead  of  a  humble  recourse 
exclusively  to  the  all-sufficient  work  of  the  Redeemer. 
This  last  is  a  deadly  treachery  practised  on  conscience, 
— for  it  is  quieting  its  alarms  exactly  by  inducing  it  to 
abjure  that  very  law  which  is  its  appointed  standard, 
and  of  which  it  is  its  very  office  to  be  the  representa- 
tive and  sanction. 

We  have  spoken  of  alarms  of  conscience  ;  but  ano- 
ther melancholy  fact  respecting  conscience  is,  that  it 
can  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  habitual  insensibility. 
There  are  men  in  the  full  vigour  of  life  and  activity, 
body  and  soul,  in  whom  this  sense  is  in  a  deep  sleep, 
like  death.  If  this  appear  desirable,  it  may  be  attain- 
ed ! — By  means  of  a  practice  of  tampering  and  equivo- 
cating with  it ;  by  a  careful  avoidance  of  all  that  might 
alarm  it ;  continual  neglect  of  its  admonitions  ;  a  de- 
termined resistance  and  repression;  and  habits  of  sin. 
The  result  of  this  will  be  a  deep  torpor  and  stupefac- 
tion of  the  conscience,  so  that  the  whole  system  that 
should  be  under  its  cognizance  is  left  fatally  free  ;  a 
thousand  things  that  ought  to  excite  it,  pass,  and  it 
hears  not,  sees  not ;  the  man  might  go  into  its  retired 
apartment  and  look  upon  it  as  an  enemy  dead! — 
Think  of  his  advantage  and  triumph,  in  looking  at 
other  men  who  are  troubled  by  a  wakeful,  interfering 
conscience  !  But  does  this  dead  stillness  of  conscience 
appear  an  awful  situation  ?  Why  does  it  so  ? — Be- 
cause we  foresee  that  it  will  awake  !  and  with  an  in- 
tensity of  life  and  power  proportioned  to  this  long 
sleep,  as  if  it  had  been  growing  gigantic  during  its 
slumber.  It  will  rise  up  with  all  that  superiority  of 
vigour  with  which  the  body  will  rise  at  the  resurrec- 
tion. It  will  awake  ! — probably  in  the  last  hours  of 
life.  But  if  not, — it  will  nevertheless  awake  ! — In  the 
other  world  there  is  something  which  will  certainly 


144  VSES   AND  PERVERSIONS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

awake  it, — at  the  last  day  ! — If  a  man  feels  it  going  to 
slumber,  he  should  just  listen  to  it  while  it  warns  him 
that  it  will  awake  !  Its  last  emotions  that  disturb  him 
he  should  interpret  as  such  a  prediction.  And  let  him 
consider  that  during  its  slumber,  there  will  have  been 
the  more  rapid  accumulation  of  what  it  is  to  take  ac- 
count of 

We  close  with  a  word  respecting  the  right  treatment 
of  conscience.  It  should  be  regarded  with  deep  re- 
s  pect, — even  its  least  intimations  attended  to — not 
slighted  as  scrupulous  impertinencies — blown  away, 
&c. —  We  should  diligently  aim  at  a  true  judgment  of 
things,  because  our  judgment  is  the  rule  by  which  con- 
science will  proceed.  There  must  be  much  reflection, 
in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  and  retirement.  We 
should  recollect  always  that,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
judicial  conscience  is  less  rigid  and  comprehensive 
than  the  divine  law  ;  less  so  than  the  judgment  of  God. 
— "  If  our  heart  condemn  us,  God  is  greater  than  our 
heart."  Therefore  in  consulting  conscience,  we  should 
endeavour  to  reahze  to  ourselves  the  Divine  presence. 
We  should  seek  and  implore,  that  our  consciences 
may  ever  be  in  the  Divine  keeping  rather  than  our 
own. 

We  often  speak  ol'the  improvements  in  the  Christian 
life, — improvements  indispensable  as  evidence  that  any 
real  progress  is  made, — be  it  remembered,  that  one  of 
them  is,  an  improvement  in  the  discerning  sensibility, 
and  extent  of  jurisdiction  of  conscience.  If  this  very 
improvement  will  have  its  evils, — as  involving  an  in- 
crease of  solicitudes,  pains,  penitential  emotions,  so 
much  the  more  desirable  will  appear  that  better  world 
where  there  is  no  possibility  of  sin,  where  the  continu- 
ed improvment  of  spiritual  perception  will  be  a  contin- 
ually augmented  exquisiteness  of  the  felicity. 


145 


XVI. 

FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER. 

^^Thou  resirainest  prayer  before  God." — This  is  one 
of  the  many  censures  that  Job's  friends  passed  upon 
him, — and  it  was  not  a  just  charge  in  the  instance  to 
which  it  was  appUed.  But,  if  it  had  been  true  as  a 
fact,  it  surely  would  have  fixed  on  Job  a  sentence  of 
guilt.  He  could  not  be  convicted  of  the  fact  without 
being  convicted  of  sm.  For,  we  do  not  expect  to  hear 
it  asserted  that  prayer  is  not  a  duty.  Whatever  the 
practice  may  seem  to  say,  there  will  seldom  be  an 
avowal  in  words  of  this  opinion.  Nevertheless,  such 
an  assertion  has  been  ventured,  and  by  persons  not 
formally  and  absolutely  avowing  rejection  and  con- 
tempt of  religion ;  but  even  pretending  perhaps  to 
render  the  greater  honour  to  the  divine  Majesty, — to 
acknowledge  in  a  more  enlightened  manner  his  sove- 
reignty, wisdom,  and  goodness.  They  have  said, 
"  It  were  idle  and  impious  to  imagine  that  representa- 
tions made  from  its  should  direct  the  divine  wisdom, 
or  have  any  influence  on  the  divine  determinations; 
therefore  to  petition  is  at  least  absurd." 

Now  even  though  no  valid  answer  could  be  made 
to  this,  one  would  be  irresistibly  persuaded  that  per- 
sons dwelling  with  complacency  on  such  an  argument, 
cared  for  the  most  part  very  little  about  the  divine 
mercy.  Those  that  did  so  care,  in  spite  of  the  argu- 
ment would  be  continually  prompted  to  pray,  and 
would  regret  to  think  it  should  be  improper,  or  be  in 
vain. 

To  a  believer  in  revelation,  it  is  answer  enough  that 
prayer  is  most  positively  enjoined,  as  a  primary  duty 
of  religion  ;  a  duly  strictly  in  itself,  as  the  proper  man- 
ner of  acknowledging  the  supremacy  of  God,  and  our 
dependence.  Let  it  be  added,  that  it  has  been  the 
universal  practice  of  devout  men  from  the  earliest  time 
13* 


146    FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER. 

till  the  present  hour ;  and  practised  the  most  by  the 
men  incontestabiy  the  most  pious  and  holy.  But  if 
there  were  any  force  in  the  supposed  objection,  we  do 
not  see  how  these  good  men  could  be  acquitted  of 
gross  impiety. 

Independently  of  these  considerations,  the  divine  in- 
junctions, and  the  constant  practice  of  the  best  men, 
we  might  take  the  matter  on  more  general  grounds, 
and  observe  that — prayer  cannot  be  discountenanced 
on  any  principle  which  would  not  repress  and  condemn 
all  earnest  religious  desires.  Consider  the  exercise  of 
thought  and  affection  in  a  mind  deeply  concerned 
about  religion.  It  dwells  upon  the  thought  of  the  di- 
vine favour,  "  how  glorious  a  felicity  to  enjoy  that !" 
But  then  an  earnest  desire  arises,  "Oh  let  it  be  mine!" 
It  dwells  upon  the  redeeming  work  of  Christ ;  and  the 
desire  is,  "  Let  me  be  interested  in  it,  to  its  whole  glo- 
rious extent!"  Or  upon  the  pardon  of  sin  ;  the  purifi- 
cation of  a  corrupt  nature  ;  divine  guidance,  illumina- 
tion, and  protection ;  and  the  desire  is,  "  Let  these  be 
granted  to  me !"  Now  consider  these  desires ;  they 
are  indulged  under  the  direct  sense  of  the  presence 
and  observance  of  God,  and  are  the  more  fervently  in- 
dulged, the  more  impressive  is  that  sense,  and  indulg- 
ed with  a  complacency  in  the  thought  that  he  knows 
them.  But  would  it  not  be  absurd  to  indulge  them,  if 
it  be  absurd  to  express  them  ?  And  worse  than  absurd, 
for  what  are  they  less,  according  to  the  objection,  than 
impulses  to  control  the  divine  determinations  and  con- 
duct ?  For  these  desires  will  absolutely  ascend  toward 
Him.  But  we  all  know  that  these  desires  are  good, 
that  they  are  vital  and  essential  to  religion,  insomuch 
that  the  degree  in  which  they  prevail  in  the  soul,  is  the 
degree  in  which  religion  prevails  there.  But  if  these 
feelings  be  the  essential  spirit  of  religion,  it  is  consist- 
ent that  they  be  carried  into  a  direct  act  of  religion, 
namely  prayer. 

It  is  the  grand  object  to  augment  these  desires. 
Well  then  here  too  is  evidence  in  favour  of  prayer. 
For  it  must  operate  to  make  them  more  strong,  more 


FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER.     147 

vivid,  more  solemn,  more  prolonged,  and  more  definite 
as  to  their  objects.  Forming  them  into  expressions  to 
God  will  concentrate  the  soul  in  them,  and  upon  these 
objects.  Soliciting  to  them  by  an  express  act,  the  im- 
mediate attention  of  the  Almighty  Intelligence,  must 
combine  them  with  the  feeling  regarding  Him ;  it  must 
partly  have  the  same  effect  as  if  we  were  expecting  to 
be  soon  placed  in  his  presence  by  death. 

As  to  the  objection  that  we  cannot  alter  the  divine 
determinations,  and,  that  if  the  things  desired  are  prop- 
er to  be  given  to  us,  he  will  give  them,  and  if  not  so, 
he  will  not  J — it  may  well  be  supposed,  that  it  is  accord- 
ing to  the  divine  determinations  that  good  things 
shall  not  be  given  to  those  that  will  not  petition  for 
them ;  that  there  shall  be  this  expression  of  depend- 
ence, and  acknowledgment  of  the  divine  supremacy ; 
that  those  that  will  not  petition  are,  by  this  proof,  in 
no  proper  state  of  mind  to  receive  the  good  gifts;  that 
he  has  made  it  an  indispensable  circumstance,  a  condi- 
tion, that  they  shall  pray  for  them,  in  order  to  obtain. 
On  general  grounds  of  reason  this  may  well  be  sup- 
posed to  be  the  case ;  but,  the  moment  w^e  turn  to  rev- 
elation we  find  that  it  actually  is  so.  "  I  will  yet  for 
this  be  inquired  of  by  the  house  of  Israel  to  do  it  for 
them ;"  and  doubtless  experience  and  fact  would  bring 
a  full  testimony  to  the  same  effect.  Suppose  two 
men  to  pass  through  life,  both  acknowledging  that  all 
good  must  come  from  God.  But  the  one  acts  on  the 
sort  of  philosophic  principle  that  disowns  prayer;  the 
other  habitually  and  fervently  petitions  the  Almighty, 
in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ.  We  may  refer  it  to  any 
man  to  judge  of  the  comparative  account  of  what  these 
two  respectively  will  have  obtained  by  the  time  they 
come  to  the  end  of  life.  We  might  also  refer  it  to  any 
man,  which  of  the  situations  he  would  prefer  to  be  in, 
in  looking  forward  to  that  period. 

But  we  need  not  have  enlarged  on  such  a  matter 
as  the  assertion  of  the  propriety  of  prayer  !  It  may 
be  presumed  we  are  under  ihe  full  and  irresistible 
conviction  that  men  ought  to  implore  the  mercies  of 


148     FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER. 

"  the  God  of  heaven ;''  that  this  is  an  homage  abso- 
lutely due  to  Him;  and  that  for  ourselves  it  is  indis- 
pensable, and  infinitely  beneficial.  If  we  could  go 
deep  enough  in  thought,  it  would  strike  us  as  an 
amazing  and  inexpressibly  delightful  circumstance,  in 
the  economy  of  the  Almighty  Being,  that  there  is  an 
assigned  ground,  and  a  perfectly  accessible  one,  for 
meeting  immediately  the  Supreme  Being;  that  there 
is  a  permission  and  appointed  duty,  to  such  creatures 
as  we  are,  to  speak  directly  to  him,  at  any  time,  on 
any  subject.  Men  speak  to  one  another ;  some  of 
them  may  not  speak  to  some  others  of  them  ;  but  the 
least,  the  humblest,  the  meanest,  may  speak  to  Him 
that  made  and  commands  all  things  ! 

Now  then  for  the  manner  in  which  men  avail  them- 
selves of  this  most  sublime  circumstance  in  their  con- 
dition. Let  us  for  one  moment  suppose  that  we  could 
be  quite  uninformed  of  the  actual  state  of  our  race,  in 
this  particular  respect ;  knowing  only  just  the  general 
facts  that  they  are  rational,  accountable,  immortal, 
wholly  dependent  on  the  Almighty,  and  every  mo- 
ment experiencing  his  beneficence;  and  knowing  also 
that  they  have  the  grand  privilege  we  have  described. 
What  might  we  expect  in  conformity  to  this  their  con- 
dition ?  Evidently,  an  universal  prevalence  of  a  de- 
votional spirit ;  a  grateful  habitual  recourse  to  their 
most  glorious  privilege !  Now  then  let  us  by  all 
means  deny  the  doctrine,  and  the  fact,  of  the  radical 
depravity  of  human  nature,  when  w^e  come  to  contem- 
plate the  actual  state  and  practice  of  mankind  in 
respect  to  the  matter  in  question ; — I  repeat,  let  us 
boldly  and  firmly  deny  it  if  we  can  in  front  of  the  facts 
of  the  case. 

Hundreds  of  millions  are  paying  homage  to  insensi- 
ble substances,  phantasms,  or  devils.  Many  millions 
are  literally  making  to  themselves  an  amusement  and 
a  sport  of  shows  and  vain  ceremonies  of  a  religion 
pretended  to  be  in  homage  to  the  true  God.  But 
come  to  what  is  accounted  the  most  privileged, 
instructed,  and  Christianized  portion  of  mankind,  our 


FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER.      149 

own  nation.  There  are  millions  of  them  that  prac- 
tise no  worship,  no  prayer  at  all,  in  any  manner  ;  they 
are  entirely  "  without  God  in  the  world."  Assemble 
them  in  imagination,  and  look  upon  them  I  To  say 
to  but  one  of  these,  in  the  full  and  entire  sense,  "  Thou 
restrainest  prayer  I"  is  pronouncing  upon  him  an 
awful  charge,  is  predicting  an  awful  doom.  Consider 
that  to  pronounce  deliberately  but  this  one  short  sen- 
tence upon  each  one  in  our  land  to  whom  it  is  applica- 
ble, would  take  many  years  !  But  then  reflect,  what 
it  is  that  you  would  be  pronouncing  in  each  single 
instance.  Think  what  it  includes  when  said  of  a 
being  standing  in  such  relations  as  he  does  to  God ; 
and  with  death,  judgment,  and  eternity  before  him  ! 
You  are  pronouncing  that, — he  habitually  scorns  the 
Almighty — his  soul,  and  the  happiness  of  eternity; 
that, — he  deliberately  keeps  himself  detached  from  all 
that  could  save  him  from  plunging  into  perdition  ! 

If  we  could  cast  an  all-penetrating  look  through 
what  is  performed  under  a  semblance  and  name  of 
prayer ;  the  slight  formalities  of  it  in  private ;  the  pub- 
lic ceremonial  performances.  Would  it  not  be  the 
mere  affectation  of  charity  to  doubt  whether  it  be  the 
fact,  that  a  vast  majority  of  the  performers  never  pray 
at  all  ?  If  it  might,  by  Him  that  knows,  be  revealed 
to  you  in  how  many  instances,  a  vital  earnest  breath- 
ing of  soul  goes  out  to  Him,  w^ould  you  not,  in  terror 
and  pity,  decline  such  knowledge?  "Let  me  not  see 
the  proofs  against  my  fellow-mortals,  of  what  I  already 
too  sadly  believe." 

But  it  was  not  so  much  our  purpose  to  animadvert 
on  the  entire  absence  of  real  prayer,  as  to  make  a  few 
admonitory  observations  on  the  great  defectiveness  of 
it  in  those  who  do  feel  its  importance,  and  are  not 
wholly  strangers  to  its  genuine  exercise.  Which  of 
us  can  assume  to  stand  clearly  out  of  the  reach  of 
such  admonition  ?  "  Thou  restrainest  prayer  before 
God." 

It  may  well  come  upon  our  thoughts  to  reflect,  how 
much  of  this  exercise,  in  its  genuine  quality,  there  is 


150     FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER. 

or  has  been  in  the  course  of  our  life  habitually.  How 
much  do  we  see  marked  and  distinguished  by  this 
sacred  colour?  How  much,  as  compared  with  our 
other  exercises  of  mind  and  speech?  There  should 
be  some  proportion  in  things.  A  matter  of  pre-emi- 
nent importance  should  not  be  reduced  to  occupy  some 
diminutive  interstices  and  corners  of  the  active  sys- 
tem. A  mere  worldly-wise  man  is  seen  acting  on  this 
principle  of  proportion  in  things.  Then,  as  Chris- 
tians, how  is  it  with  us  in  this  important  matter? 

That  which  is  confessedly  the  most  powerful  of  all 
our  means  and  resources  for  good  should  not  be  left; 
nearly  out  of  use,  for  us  to  extol  the  while  its  great 
power,  and  be  miserable  through  a  dependence  on 
other  means.  If  the  people  on  the  parched  tracts 
along  the  Nile  had  a  mighty  engine  for  raising  the 
water  to  irrigate,  what  would  be  thought  of  them  for 
toilirfg  with  little  earthen  vessels,  from  which  the  ele- 
ment would  almost  evaporate  while  they  were  carry- 
ing it?  Now  look  at  our  means  for  good.  There  is 
one  pre-eminent;  just  that  one  that  lies  nearly  unem- 
ployed? One  image  of  this  sort  suggests  another. 
The  poor,  superstitious  multitudes  of  India  believe 
that  their  adored  river  comes  from  heaven,  and  they 
are  consistent.  They  pant  to  go  to  it ;  they  have  re- 
course to  it  with  eager  devotion ;  they  purify  their 
vessels  with  it,  and  themselves ;  they  consider  it  a 
precious  element  in  their  food  ;  they  are  happy  to  be 
carried  to  its  banks  when  dying.  Now  we  know  that 
our  grand  resource  of  prayer  is  a  blessed  privilege 
granted  from  heaven,  of  a  peculiarly  heavenly  qual- 
ity ;  where  is  our  consistency,  if  we  are  indifferent  and 
sparing  in  the  use  of  it? 

"  Thou  restrainest  prayer  before  God."  Is  there  a 
very  frequent,  or  even  a  prevailing  reluctance  to  it,  so 
that  the  chief  feeling  regarding  it  is  but  a  haunting 
sense  of  duty,  and  of  guilt  in  the  neglect?  This  were 
a  serious  cause  for  alarm,  lest  all  be  wrong  within. 
A  consciousness  like  this  is  a  stronger  summons  to  the 
very  exercise  itself,  than  if  a  host  of  the  dead  were  to 


FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER.      151 

arise  to  command  it.  That  man  is  infatuated  if  he 
withholds  prayer.  What  thing  more  urgent  can  mor- 
tal have  to  crave  than  this, — that  he  should  not  have 
to  make  out  the  safety  of  his  state  under  so  fearful  a 
sign  ? 

Is  it  in  the  course  of  our  days,  left  to  uncertainties 
whether  the  exercise  shall  be  attended  to  or  not?  Is 
it  considered  not  a  positive,  fixed  thing,  no  more  to  be 
dispensed  with  than  the  daily  bread,  or  the  common 
recurring  offices  of  life  ?  Is  the  case  so  that  a  man 
might  be  supposed  to  say  to  himself,  "  I  intend  to 
pray  to-day,  or  this  morning,  or  evening ;  I  hope  I 
shall,  but  I  am  not  certain,  I  may  fail."  May  you 
fail  ?  It  is,  then,  too  probable  that  you  will  !  ^'-  May 
you " — ?  then  that  may  befall  you  which  will  teach 
you  what  it  is  to  fail  of  such  a  duly ! — '•  May  you  " — ? 
then  you  may  lose  the  very  last  opportunity  that  will 
be  granted  to  you  ! 

Is  there  a  habit  of  letting  come  first  to  be  attended 
to,  any  inferior  thing  that  may  offer  itself?  A  man 
may  judge  when  is  the  fair  and  proper  time  for  this 
exercise.  When  that  time  is  come  shall  he  wait,  as 
if  to  see  whether  any  thing  else  will  occur  to  put  in  its 
claim,  so  that  the  claim  of  God  should  be  admitted  but 
on  the  condition  that  nothing  else  shall  make  a  claim  ? 
He  will  not  have  waited  long  before  something  will 
come  in  beiween,  and  that  will  bring  something  else, 
and  that  again  some  other  thing.  This  great  duty  is 
then  set  aside  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  the  disposi- 
tion lessening  at  every  step,  and  perhaps  the  conscience 
too  ;  and  when  he  reflects,  what  reproach  and  shame 
may  he  not  often  feel  to  think  what  he  has  suffered  to 
set  it  aside !  The  weight  of  the  reproach  should  fall, 
not  on  the  fact  merely  of  the  neglect,  but  on  the  dispo- 
sition of  mind  which  could  permit  it. 

"  Thou  restrainest  prayer  before  God."  "  Another 
time,  a  later  hour,  will  be  much  more  convenient." 
How  many  prayers  this  deception  has  precluded  !  "  I 
shall  be  in  a  better  tone  of  feeling  j  my  thoughts  more 
composed  j  there  will  be  less  liability  to  interruption  ; 


152     FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER. 

such  an  affair  I  shall  have  disposed  of,  and  discharged 
from  my  mind.  It  were  even  irreverent  to  approach 
the  divine  Majesty  just  as  I  now  feel."  As  if  that 
commanded  serious  effort,  required  in  such  approach, 
were  not  one  of  the  best  expedients  for  putting  the 
mind  in  order.  Then  what  does  experience  say,  as  to 
the  actual  occurrence  and  improvement  of  that  expect- 
ed better  season  ?  How  soon  commonly  does  the 
seasonable  hour  come,  when  the  first  is  easily  let  to 
slide  by  as  unseasonable?  Is  there  a  disposition  to 
give  a  ready  allowance  to  pleas  for  deferring  or  cut- 
ting very  short  ?  "  That  Avill  be  a  fair  excuse." 
"  That  must  be  attended  to  immediately."  "  To  de- 
lay that  will  be  a  serious  evil."  "  That  is  a  matter  of 
practical  duty,  for  which  God  will  excuse  the  mental." 
When  in  the  exercise,  a  person  may  detect  himself 
readily  recollecting  and  allowing  a  call  away.  What 
a  test  of  the  habitude  of  the  heart  is  there  in  all  this ! 

"  Thou  restrainest  prayer  before  God."  In  the  in- 
terval appropriate  to  this  exercise,  a  man  may  defer  it 
till  very  near  what  he  knows  must  be  the  end  of  the 
allowed  time.  He  may  be  under  obligatory  regula- 
tions requiring  him  to  meet  certain  business  or  engage- 
ments at  nearly  a  precise  time.  Now  having  this 
known  measured  time  before  him,  does  he  allow  him- 
self to  pass  away  the  moments  that  belong  to  devotion 
till  very  near  the  appointed  moment,  so  that  there  is 
time  for  only  a  few  hurried  sentences  ? 

An  inconvenient  situation  for  devotional  exercise, 
will  often  be  one  of  the  real  evils  of  life.  But  here  let 
the  question  be,  Is  this  circumstance  readily  seized  as 
a  plea  to  conscience  for  but  little  practising  the  solemn 
exercise?  The  man  is  almost  pleased  that  there  is 
such  a  ground  of  excuse,  and  yet  laying  the  whole 
blame  of  the  omission  or  slightness  on  this  cause. 

This  lamentably  defective  state  of  mind  maybe  ver- 
ified again  in  a  mode  like  this,  namely;  "I  did  not 
very  long  since  employ  some  monvents  in  prayer ;  ii 
will  not  be  necessary  so  very  soon  again.  For  a  while 
I  am  free  Irom  the  pressure  of  duty."    As  if  the  chief 


FORMALITY  AND  REMISSNESS  IN  PRAYER.      153 

Tjse  of  the  preceding  prayer  were  its  clearing  the 
time  for  war  cL 

The  having  engaged  in  a  social  act  of  religion  may- 
be assumed  as  a  partial  excuse  for  omitting  the  pri- 
vate exercise,  a  kind  of  acquittance^,  the  share  of  a 
social  exercise  is  reckoned  enough  for  the  whole  trib- 
ute from  the  individual.  As  if  a  social  tribute  were 
for  the  purpose  oi'gaining  an  exemption  for  each  indi- 
vidual. 

Sometimes  the  exercise  is  made  very  brief  from 
real  unqualified  want  of  interest.  Or  prayer  is  delay- 
ed from  the  sense  of  recent  guilt.  No  wonder  there 
should  be  an  indisposition  then.  But  will  mere  time 
w^ear  the  guilt  away  ?  What  will  be  the  best  secu- 
rity against  renewed  sin  ?  Do  not  defer  praying  till 
more  guilt  come  between  !  Do  not,  lest  death  come 
between-^. 

The  charge  in  the  text  falls  upon  the  state  of  feel- 
ing which  forgets  to  recognize  the  value  of  prayer  as 
an  important  instrument  in  the  transactions  of  life. 
There  may  be  an  acknowledgment,  in  a  general  way, 
of  its  value,  but  in  practice  things  are  left  to  ordinary 
resources. 

The  charge  falls  too  on  the  indulgence  of  cares, 
anxieties,  and  griefs,  with  little  recourse  to  this  great 
expedient.  We  may  put  the  evil  charged  under  the 
final  general  description,  praying  but  so  that  there  is  a 
consciousness,  "  This  will  not  do  always^ 

This  is  more  than  enough  for  enumeration  and  de- 
scription. The  few  admonitory  considerations  whicJi 
we  might  have  added,  to  enforce  a  reform,  can  be  lit- 
tle necessary,  when  the  evil  is  so  plainly  evident. — It 
Is  a  privation  of  whatever  state  and  happiness  it  is 
that  is  imported  b)^  "communion  with  God." — Hovv 
mi3ch  it  foregoes  the  benefits  of  the  intercession  of 
Christ ! — It  precludes  the  disposition  to  refer  to  the 
Divine  Being  in  social  communications. — It  saps  a 
man's  moral  and  Christian  courage. — It  raises  a  for- 
midable difficulty  in  the  way  of  recourse  to  God  on 
'argent  occasions  and  emergencies. 
14 


XVII. 

WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER. 

"  Watch  and  pray,  thai  ye  enter  not  into  tempta- 
iion^ — This  is  one  of  the  last  sentences  uttered  by 
our  Lord  to  his  disciples  before  his  death.  All  he  ap- 
pears to  have  said  to  them  llie  remainder  of  that 
dreadful  night  would  fill  but  very  few  moments.  And 
this  circumstance  of  being  nearly  the  last  would  seem 
to  give  it  a  peculiar  and  solenm  emphasis.  The  last, 
— the  end  of  any  prolonged  series,  if  at  all  important, 
has  some  peculiar  relation  to  our  most  serious  feel- 
ings ;  how  it  finds  them  out.  moves  them  into  exercise, 
— even  men  of  mirth  are  somewhat  graver  ! 

If  the  last  in  an  important  scries  is  considered  with 
respect  to  prospect,  it  is  regarded  like  coming  to  the 
brink  of  a  gulf; — if  with  regard  to  retrospect,  it  seems 
as  it  were  to  collect,  and  stand  representative  of  the 
importance  of  all  the  preceding,  as  if  it  had  a  voice 
and  said,  "  They  all  speak  this  once  more  by  me,  that 
speak  the  last.''  In  the  case  of  a  revered  friend  and 
instructor,  speaking  nearly  for  the  last  time,  it  would 
seem  as  if  his  spirit,  before  it  departed,  went  back  to 
reanimate,  repeat,  re-apply  all  his  preceding  instruc- 
tions. It  is  as  if  he  said,  "  My  spirit  cannot  come 
to  yours  in  any  new  words,  any  more  words  ;  let  it 
henceforward  be  frit  as  coming  to  you  in  those  I  have 
spoken  before."  And  the  sentences  which  he  deliber- 
ately cliose  to  utter  last,  would  be  felt  as  being  in- 
stead of,  and  in  some  sense  having  the  virtue  of,  all 
the  other  valuable  things  that  he  cannot  now  say. 

But  in  the  instance  of  our  Lord,  there  were  other 
most  solemn  and  aflecting  circumstances  to  give  em- 
phasis to  his  last  expressions  to  his  disciples.  They 
were  uttered  under  the  pressure  of  a  mental  agony 
unparalleled  in  nature  and  degree  in  all  time  ; — in  the 
near  anticipation  of  a  corporeal  anguish  the  severest 
that  malignity  could  devise  to  inflict;  and  all  this  in- 


WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER.        155 

flicted  on  perfect  g-oodness,  and  as  far  as  men  were 
concerned  inflicted  because  of  that  goodness  ;  because 
he  was  in  perfect  antipathy  to  that  moral  evil  which 
reigned  triumphant,  and  raged  at  his  interference. 
All  this  was  voluntarily  encountered,  not  only  by  an 
original  act  of  determination,  but  by  an  act  of  deter- 
mination at  each  step  renewed,  and  at  each  step  in  one 
sense  revocable,  if  it  had  been  morally  possible  for 
him  to  abandon  the  object.  He  said  the  case  was 
such,  and  the  whole  grand  design  still  so  depending 
on  his  present  determination,  that  myriads,  of  angels 
would  instantly  have  come  at  his  requisition — and 
then  with  a  sublime,  and  awful,  and  justly  vindictive 
triumph,  he  could  have  left  the  world  to  destruction  ! 
But  what  had  then  become  of  the  great  purpose  on 
which  he  came  to  redeem  it?  Now  all  this  would 
afterwards  in  the  minds  of  his  disciples,  and  should  in 
ours,  be  associated  with  his  last  admonitions.  To 
think  how  he  watched,  and  prayed,  and  suffered,  and 
cared  for  his  disciples  and  mankind,  in  the  hour  in 
which  he  said  it ! 

The  first  word  of  the  admonition  was  pointed  at  that 
immediate  circumstance  that  they  slept;  even  those 
three  whom  he  had  selected  to  go  further  with  him  in 
the  melancholy  garden  for  the  purpose  of  their  watch- 
ing with  him,  even  they  fell  asleep,  once  and  again, — 
notwithstanding  the  awful  character  of  the  crisis.  As 
if  through  an  overruling  appointment  to  show  how  com- 
pletely he  was  placed,  by  his  nature  and  his  work,  out 
of  sympathy  and  co-operation; — to  show  that  he  was 
a  person,  and  that  his  was  a  part — exclusive  and  alone. 
How  true  was  it  that  he  "  trod  the  wine-press  alone !" 
Often  would  his  disciples,  in  their  subsequent  career 
of  apostles,  reflect  how  totally  inadequate  they  had 
been  in  all  senses,  to  be  in  communication  with  him  in 
that  awful  hour !  But  every  renewed  recollection  of 
the  admonition  to  watch  and  pray  in  defence  against 
temptation,  would  be  enforced  by  powerful  and  affect- 
ing associations. 

We  leave  the  strict  and  literal  import  of  the  term 


156        WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER. 

watching  in  the  text  for  that  larger  sense  in  which  it  is 
so  often  used  for  exhortation  in  the  New  Testament. 

Yet  it  were  not  at  all  impertinent  to  dwell  one  mo- 
ment on  the  admonition  in  that  literal  sense  in  which 
our  Lord  spoke  it.  It  may  surely  be  takea  as  a  re- 
proof of  wasting-  in  unnecessary  slumber  the  time 
which  should  be  employed  in  praying  against  tempta- 
tion. It  is  at  their  own  cost  that  any  shall  regard  this 
as  too  trivial  a  thing  for  admonition  and  for  conscience. 
Let  it  be  honestly  estimated  what  portion  is  really  ne- 
cessary for  refreshment  and  health.  Then  let  the  com- 
parison be  imagined  between  a  person  who  shall 
habitually  thus  consume  one  hour  in  the  twenty-four, 
more  than  this  necessary  measure,  and  another  who 
shall  save  and  employ  that  one  hour  each  day  in  pray- 
ing, and  especially  in  praying  against  temptation. 
What  would  the  sum  of  the  ditlerence  be  in  a  whole 
life  !  Think  how  many  temptations  that  have  been 
yielded  to,  would  have  been  escaped  or  overcome  had 
that  last  hour  been  so  employed  I  Will  any  one  say, 
that  he  has  quite  time  enough  still,  for  this  good  use, 
though  one  of  his  hours  each  day  be  so  thrown  away? 
One  answer  would  be,  that  it  may  well  be  doubted 
whether  a  person  so  undervaluing  his  time  will  actu- 
ally employ  much  of  it  in  this  best  use.  The  next  ob- 
servation would  be,  that  it  is  a  signal  novelty,  and  an 
excepted  case,  no  very  honourable  exception  neither, 
if  there  be  a  man  who  has  decidedly  more  than  enough 
time  for  all  his  duties  ;  he  need  not  be  envied  by  those 
to  whom  the  Great  Master  has  assigned  as  much  ser- 
vice as  they  can  perform  by  the  improvement  of  alt 
their  time. 

But  now  let  us  consider  the  precept  in  its  genera! 
and  comprehensive  application.  "  Watch  and  pray 
that  ye  enter  not  into  temptation."  There  is  enjoined 
here  a  feeling  of  apprehension  and  alarm.  It  is  equiva- 
lent to  saying — '•  Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  at  ease.'* 
"Beware  of  quietly  enjoying  your  life.  You  are  lost 
if  you  live  without  fear."  But  there  is  an  emotion  of 
the  heart  against  entertaining  this  state  of  feeling. 


WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER,        157 

'■  How  grievous  is  it  never  to  be  secure  ;  never  to  be 
indulged  in  the  happiness  of  an  easy,  unheeding  con- 
fidence !"  It  suggests  the  idea  of  a  place  where  a  man 
can  hardl}'-  go  to  sleep,  lest  the  plunderer  or  assassin 
be  watching,  or  hovering  near  unseen;  or  of  a  place 
where  the  people  can  walk  out  no  whither,  without  sus- 
picion of  some  lurking  danger  or  enemy  not  far  off; 
and  are  to  be  constantly  looking  vigilantly  and  fear- 
fully round;  a  place  where  they  cannot  ascend  an 
eminence,  nor  wander  through  a  sequestered  valley, 
nor  enter  a  blooming  grove,  nor  even  a  garden  of 
flowers,  without  having  the  image  of  the  serpent,  the 
wild  beast,  or  a  more  deadly  mischief  in  human  shape, 
as  vividly  present  to  the  imagination  as  the  visible 
enemy  is  to  the  eye  ;  a  place  where  they  would  hesi- 
tate to  enter  in  at  a  gate  or  a  door  though  a  friendly 
countenance,  apparently  such,  were  shown  there  to 
invite  them  in.  It  would  be  said,  who  could  endure 
to  live  in  such  a  place  ?  Then,  who  can  endure  to  live 
in  this  world  ?  for  these  are  but  emblems  of  the  condi- 
tion of  danger  in  which  the  soul  sojourns  on  earth. 
Such  a  picture  represents  the  danger,  but  fails  in  the 
other  respect,  the  apprehensive  caution  ofthe  sojourners! 

For  as  to  moral  and  spiritual  dangers,  the  greater 
number  seem  to  have  determined  to  indulge  in  a  care- 
less and  almost  unlimited  confidence.  What  an  amaz- 
ing account  of  things,  if  it  were  possible  to  calculate 
the  amount  of  suspioion,  apprehension,  vigilance,  pre- 
caution, and  preventive  expedient  among  mankind, 
and  then  distinguish  that  proportion  of  these  which 
has  reference  to  moral  and  spiritual  dangers !  Would 
it  not  be  as  if  the  race  thought  themselves  threatened 
on  the  one  side  by  more  than  all  the  plagues  of  Egypt, 
and  on  the  other,  where  their  most  important  interests 
lie,  by  merely  some  clouds  of  dust  ?  As  a  natural  con- 
sequence, they  are  overrun,  and  spoiled,  and  ruined, 
by  what  they  so  little  dread  and  guard  against,  that  is 
to  say,  by  temptations. 

For  consider,  in  obedience  to  what,  in  agreement 
and  conformity  to  what  but  temptation  is  it^  that  the 
14* 


158  WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER, 

far  greater  part  of  what  men  are  about,  is  clone  ?  Af- 
ter what  is  done  simply  for  the  support  of  our  mortal 
existence.  Look  around  and  see  how  it  is  because 
temptation  is  acting  upon  men  that  they  are  such,  and 
act  so  !  See  how  it  despotically  commands  that  man  ;. 
how  it  beguiles  that  other  ;  surprises  a  third  ;  mingles 
with  the  better  influences  acting  on  a  fourth  I  What 
but  prevailing  temptation  should  make  the  state  of 
things  throughout  tlie  moral  scene  be  thus  ?  that  is, 
contrary  to  the  divine  laws. 

Whence  is  it  that  temptation  is  so  generally  prevail- 
ing, so  mightily  prosperous  in  its  operation  ?  Why 
does  not  the  soul  meet  it,  as  water  meets  fire?  The 
fearful  cause  is,  that  it  acts  on  a  nature  congenial  and 
accordant  to  what  it  offers.  It  is  fuel  that  meets  fire  I 
What  says  our  own  experience  ?  Experience  at  what 
a  cost !  That  long  and  most  costly  lesson  has  been 
thrown  away  upon  us,  if  we  can  any  longer  with  a 
heedless  confidence  trust  our  natural  disposition  in 
such  a  world.  Yes  !  if  we  can  carelessly  trust  it,  even 
though  the  Spirit  of  God  have  imparted  that  infinite 
blessing — a  principle  of  renovation,  a  pure  principle 
from  heaven,  that  abhors  and  fights  against  the  evil 
as  dwelling  within  or  invading  from  without.  But  in- 
deed, the  indispensable  evidence  of  such  a  divine  prin- 
ciple will  be  an  urgent  and  effectual  sense  of  the  ne- 
cessity of  watching  and  praying  against  temptation. 

"  That  ye  enter  not  into  temptation."  The  words 
seem  to  say  very  pointedly — Bewan-e  of  the  beginning  ! 
for  it  is  in  fatal  connexion  with  the  next  ensuing,  and 
yet  conceals  what  is  behind.  Since  temptation  is  sure 
to  be  early  with  its  beginnings,  so  too  should  watching 
and  praying;  early  in  life;  early  in  the  day;  early  in 
every  undertaking!  What  haste  the  man  must  make^ 
that  will  be  beforehand  with  temptation  I 

"  That  ye  enter  not ;"  that  we  do  not  inattentively 
admit  the  first  actions  of  temptation  upon  us.  How 
important  in  this  reference  is  self-observation !  For 
want  of  this,  a  succession  of  pernicious  impressions- 
shall  have  been  made  before  the  man  is  aware^ 

"  Enter  not ;"  that  is,  that  we  be  cautious  of  ventur- 


WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER,  lo9 

insr  into  any  thing  which  we  have  reason  to  beheve 
or  suspect  may  soon  become  temptation.  It  may  be 
fair  and  harmless  at  the  outset,  but  how  far  on  ?  Can 
no  one  be  led  into  sin  but  by  rushing  at  the  very  first 
into  what  is  flagrantly  such?  "Enter  not,"  that  is, 
that  we  be  considerate  how  any  thing  may  become 
temptation.  How  may  it  by  a  natural  progress  affect 
the  passions  after  a  while  ?  What  may  very  proba- 
bly fall  in  and  mingle  with  it?  This  demands  an 
exercise  of  discerning  foresight. 

"That  ye  enter  not;"  that  is,  that  we  may  be 
quickly  alarmed  at  the  indications  that  a  thing  is  be- 
coming temptation.  "Here  a  questionable  effect  is 
beginning  upon  me ;  nay,  but  it  is  a  bad  effect." 
"  Certain  principles  of  truth  and  duty  are  beginning 
to  slacken  their  hold  on  me."  Beware  of  becoming 
so  partial  to  a  thing  that  this  circumstance  shall  ap- 
pear a  trifling  matter.  You  may  have  seen  such 
examples ;  uneasiness  has  been  felt  for  a  while ; 
there  may  have  been  a  questioning  whether  to  relin- 
quish the  object ;  but  the  heart  grew  faster  to  it.  Be 
cautious  of  pursuing  an  evident  good  in  a  way  in 
which  there  must  be  temptation.  Be  specially  fear- 
ful of  that  where,  if  there  be  any  good  to  be  obtained, 
the  good  is  to  come  afterwards,  but  the  temptation 
first.  If  the  temptation  coming  first  shall  blind  my 
discernment  of  the  good — cool  my  zeal  or  destroy 
my  relish  of  it — if  I  should  stop  with  the  temptation 
and  abandon  the  good  ! — and  be  fearful  of  that  where 
the  temptation  is  certain  and  the  good  only  possi- 
ble, or  at  best  only  probable.  A  dangerous  problem 
this,  how  much  good  possible  is  worth  how  much 
temptation  certain  ?  Beware  of  being  beguiled  in 
this  manner,  that  a  positive  unquestionable  good  can 
be  alleged.  In  truth  it  is  not  this  that  is  the  real  in- 
ducement, but  that  something  connected  with  that 
good  olTers  a  pleasing  temptation  which  can  be  enter- 
tained under  the  plea  of  the  good.  Be  peculiarly 
suspicious  in  any  case,  where  all  appears  pleasing 
and  attractive,  and  there  is  nothing  for  mortification 


160       WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER. 

• 

and  self-denial.  Let  suspicion  and  alarm  be  awak- 
ened, when  we  find  our  minds  at  work  to  make  out 
any  thing  to  be  innocent  against  doubt  and  uneasy- 
conscience.  Be  careful  that  when  unquestionable 
duty  leads  into  the  way  of  temptation,  we  stay  not 
longer  near  the  temptation  than  we  are  honestly 
about  the  duty.  Beware  of  the  kind  of  companionship 
that  directly  leads  into  temptation.  But  let  no  man 
be  beguiled  to  think  he  is  safe  against  temptation 
at  the  times  when  his  only  companion  is  himself. 
The  whole  tempting  world  may  then  come  to  him 
through  the  medium  of  the  imagination.  The  great 
deep  of  his  own  evil  heart  may  then  be  broken  up. 
In  this  solitude  may  come  that  tempter  that  came  to 
our  Lord  in  the  desert.  In  truth,  unhappily  there  is 
no  situation  or  employment  in  which  temptation  is  not 
to  be  apprehended. 

What  vigilance  and  prayer  are  necessary  against 
the  sudden  violent  surprises  of  temptation !  These 
may  come  with  as  little  warning  almost  as  the  dread- 
ful accidents  that  befall  men's  persons.  A  sudden  flash 
of  infernal  fire  kindles  the  passions,  and  prostrates  the 
judgment  and  conscience.  Divine  aid  can  come  as 
suddenly  as  these  assaults.  But  who  may  confidently 
rely  that  it  shall  7 

Now  think  of  all  this  ;  and  then  of  a  heedless,  self- 
trusting,  and  prayerless  habit  of  mind  !  What  must 
be  the  consequence  ?  Serious  persons  amidst  their 
self- reproachful  reflections  may  be  amazed  at  the  pre- 
venting goodness  of  God  that  still  worse  has  not  be- 
fallen them.  To  think  how  many  days  and  weeks 
they  have  begun,  how  many  scenes  and  occupations^ 
passed  through,  with  little  of  real  earnest  prayer,  little 
of  solicitous  conscientious  vigilance.  How  grateful 
should  they  be  to  think  how  many  temptations  they 
have  been  mercifully  kept  out  of  the  way  of,  which 
they  probably  would  not  have  resisted  !  But  let  them 
consider  whether  the  proper  testimony  of  that  grati- 
tude will  be,  that  hencelbrward  they  little  care  or  ap- 
ply to   his  heavenly  protection.     They  would    have 


WATCHFULNESS  AND  PRAYER.        161 

cause  to  dread  that  even  if  they  should  not  be  at 
length  fully  and  finally  given  up  to  evil,  they  will  be 
suffered  to  fall  into  some  great  iniquity,  in  order  to 
ronse  them  by  the  horrors  of  guilt.  Think  solemnly 
of  the  frightful  extent  of  the  possibilities  of  falling  into 
sin.  And  that  it  is  an  insult  to  God  to  calculate  on 
escaping  without  the  means  he  has  enjoined.  "  Watch 
and  pray."  These  must  be  combined ;  for  watching 
without  prayer  were  but  an  impious  homage  to  our- 
selves. Praj^er  without  watching  were  but  an  im- 
pious and  also  absurd  homage  to  God. 

What  emphatic  importance  is  in  the  point  of  being 
saved  from  entering  into  temptation;  since  when  a 
man  is  fully  in  it,  and  under  the  strength  of  its  influ- 
ence, there  is  an  end  of  watching,  and  an  indisposi- 
tion to  pray ! 


XVIII. 

SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 


"  Young  men  likewise  exhort  to  be  soher-mindedP 
— Tt  is  plain  that  the  exhortation  was  meant  expressly 
for  young  men ;  but  when  we  take  the  precept  in  the 
most  general  sense  which  the  word  in  our  version, 
'■  sober-minded,"  allows, — it  may  be  presumed  that 
young  persons  of  the  other  sex  will  consider  themselves 
as  quite  within  the  scope  of  such  counsel. 

But, — ^'  sober-minded  !" — methinks  this,  at  the  first 
sound,  is  likely  to  be  one  of  the  least  pleasing  words 
in  the  whole  language,  to  many  young  persons.  To 
them  it  will  seem  as  i^  such  a  word  could  come  only 
from  old,  time-worn  people,  whose  feelings  are  dried 
up  into  a  cold,  stiffened  prudence,  which  they  wish  ta 
have  reputed  as  wisdom ;  persons  who,  having  suf^ 


162  SOBER-MINDEDNESS.  » 

fered  the  extinction  of  all  vivacity  in  themselves,  envy 
the  young  tor  possessing  what  they  have  lost. 

The  word  may  have  suggested  ideas  of  something 
heavy,  spiritless,  formal,  and  calculating;  almost 
mechanical  in  all  pursuits  and  interests  ;  the  image 
of  a  person  narrow  in  his  notions,  plodding  in  his  opera- 
tions, placed  wholly  out  of  sympathy  with  everything 
partaking  of  ardour,  sensibility,  adventure,  or  enthusi- 
asm; and  at  the  same  time  taking  to  himself  great  merit 
for  all  this.  Are  such  the  ideas  that  the  word  "sober- 
minded"  has  conveyed  to  any  of  the  young  persons 
present?  What  then  do  you  think  of  him  that  wrote 
this  injunction,  Paul  ?  Was  he  such  a  sample  of  hu- 
man character  ?  We  may  then  be  perfectly  sure  that 
Paul's  "sober-minded  young  men"  were  not  to  be 
examples  of  a  sapient  formality,  of  a  creeping  pru- 
dence, of  extinguished  passions,  of  a  cold  aversion  to 
animated  interests ; — in  short,  not  examples  of  the  ne- 
gation of  any  thing  that  is  really  graceful  and  excel- 
lent in  youth. 

A  few  admonitory  observations  on  such  a  topic  will 
not  be  unacceptable.  We  shall  attempt  to  show,  what 
is  the  right  notion  of"  sober-mindeilness;" — then  apply 
its  principles  or  rules  to  some  of  the  circumstances  of 
youth; — and  suggest  a  few  considerations  for  the  en- 
forcement of  thai  application. 

What  is  it  that  may  properly  be  called  "  sober-mind- 
edness ?"  This  is  to  ask,  in  other  words.  What  is  it 
that  we  are  all  charging  the  want  of  upon  our  fellow- 
mortals,  while  we  are  all  censuring,  reproaching,  or 
ridiculing  them,  for  folly,  absurdity,  extravagance,  for 
running  into  all  extremes,  for  being  the  sport  of  fan- 
cies, tempers,  and  passions?  Is  there  any  justice  in 
these  invectives,  which  almost  every  one  is  uttering 
every  day  ?  What  is  all  this  the  contrary  to  ?  we  an- 
swer, "  Sober-mindedness."  But  what  is  the  princi- 
ple and  the  cause  of  the  difference?  What  is  it  that 
would  reduce  men  from  all  this  to  sober-mindedness  ? 
Plainly,  the  effectual  predominance  of  sound  reason. 
That  then  is  the  general  description  of  sober-minded- 


SOBER-MINDEDNESS.  1G3 

ness, — that  there  be  in  habitual  exercise  a  just  judg- 
ment of  things,  and  lliat  this  judgment  be  in  real  efiec- 
tive  authority. 

There  cannot  be  the  required  state  of  mind,  unless 
there  be  some  great  master  principles,  decidedly  fixed 
in  the  very  habit  of  thinking  and  feeling — principles 
applicable  to  almost  all  things  in  our  interests  and 
practice — principles  so  general  that  many  special  ones 
will  grow  out  of  them  for  particular  application.  So 
that,  whether  in  youth,  or  any  other  age,  the  man 
shall  be  a  determined  and  prej.ared  being, — has  cer- 
tain positive  principles  combined  of  judgment  and  con- 
science, which  are  to  keep  him  to  a  certain  state  and 
character,  under  all  circumstances. 

We  need  not  attempt  to  specify  many  of  these  prin- 
ciples. One  is, — that  in  all  things,  and  at  all  events, 
God  is  to  be  obeyed.  Another, — that  there  is  the 
essential  distinction  of  hohness  and  sin  in  all  conduct, 
both  wnthin  the  mind,  and  in  external  action,  and  that 
sin  is  absolutely  a  dreadlul  evil.  Another, — that  that 
cannot  be  right  long  in  which  there  is  no  self-denial. 
Another, — that  must  not  be  done  which  must  be  re- 
pented of  Another, — the  future  should  predominate 
over  the  present. 

Such  things  must  be  established  firmly  and  opera- 
tively  in  the  mind.  But  then  how  can  this  be  without 
much  and  frequent  exercise  of  serious  thought?  Do 
such  principles  grow"  and  establish  themselves  sponta- 
neously? Alas!  let  any  young  person  look  into  his 
own  mind  and  see  !  Without  much  of  serious  thought, 
therefore,  there  cannot  be  "sober-mindedness.^' — 
Therefore  there  cannot  be  this  required  state  of  mind, 
if  principles  are  admitted,  or  practical  determinations 
adopted,  from  mere  impressions  of  fancy  and  feeling, 
perhaps  from  some  casual  situation  into  wiiich  a  per- 
son is  thrown  ;  perhaps  from  the  pleasing  impression 
made  by  some  new  acquaintance,  or  a  friend,  while  no 
account  is  taken  of  the  whole  comprehensive  view  of 
the  matter;  nay,  perliaps,  the  judgment  actually  with- 
held from  attempting  this.     Thus  we  can  imagine  a 


164  SOBEtt-MINDEDNESS. 

Protestant  falling  into  communication  with  a  manlike 
Fenelon — charmed  witli  such  piety  and  intelligence — 
carried  by  this  feeling  back  into  the  popi§h  church ; — 
no  comprehensive  view  taken  of  the  real  character  and 
operations  of  that  church ; — no  account  taken  of  its 
essential  connection  with  secularity  and  ambition, — of 
its  general  hostility  to  true  religion, — of  the  prevailing 
worthlessness  of  its  priesthood, — of  its  wicked  assump- 
tions, maxims,  and  impostures, — of  its  infernal  persecu- 
tions ; — and  of  all  this  being  the  natural  result  of  its 
very  constitution. 

]\o  principles  can  suffice  for  true  "sober-mindedness" 
in  young  persons  or  any  others,  unless  as  consciously 
held  as  under  the  sanction  and  as  having  the  authority 
of  the  Supreme  Power.  Even  supposing  them  intrin- 
sically right,  what  will  that — merely  that — avail,— 
amidst  the  commotion  of  the  passions,  the  beguile- 
ments  of  immediate  interest,  the  endless  besetment  of 
temptations  7  Man  is  not  a  being  to  be  governed  by 
principles,  detached  from  an  overawing  power.  Set 
them  in  the  best  array  that  you  can  in  his  mind,  to 
fight  the  evil  powers  within,  and  from  without,  but 
refuse  them  weapons  from  the  armoury  of  heaven  ; — 
let  no  lightning  of  the  divine  eye,  no  thunder  of  the 
divine  voice,  come  in  testimony  and  in  aid  of  their 
operation — and  how  soon  they  will  be  overwhelmed 
and  trampled  down !  Like  the  Israelites  when  deserted 
oi"  God  in  their  battles,  the  very  ark  of  God  surrendered 
to  the  pagans!  Always,  therefore,  it  is  the  earnest 
solicitude  and  endeavour  of  wise  men,  that  the  good 
principles  in  their  minds  may  be  in  full  communication 
with  the  Almighty.  Without  this  fortification  and 
power  of  the  principles,  there  cannot  be  that  constancy 
and  composed  firmness  which  are  the  essence  of  sober- 
mindedness.  For  the  term  must  imply  a  steady  tenor 
of  feeling  and  proceeding,  not  fluctuating,  confused, 
alternatnig — and  a  calm  independence  of  spirit  and 
conduct,  not  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  circumstan- 
ces,— the  opinions  and  wills, — of  the  surrounding 
world  J  which  holds  one  certain  plan  and  aim,  right 


SOBER»MINDEDNESS.  165 

onward  through  all  the  causes  of  interference  and  per- 
version. But  how  can  this  be  but  by  the  vital  connex- 
ion of  our  governing  principles  with  the  unchangeable 
Spirit?  We  must  feel  in  them  that  His  finger  is  upon 
us,  who  is  '-the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever.'' 

There  cannot  be  a  high  degree  of  that  well-ordered 
state,  "  sober-mindedness,"  without  the  person's  form- 
ing a  sound  judgment  of  his  own  mind.  Because  that 
state  imphes  a  strong  regulation  and  government,  and 
how  can  that  be  exercised  without  much  insight  into 
the  mind  that  is  to  be  governed  ?  If  there  be  an  insen- 
sibility to  the  general  corruption  of  the  soul,  through- 
out its  very  nature,  how  little  to  the  purpose  will  any 
scheme  of  self-government  be  ! 

Then  there  are  the  special  and  peculiar  circum- 
stances and  tendencies  ;  the  particular  weaknesses  or 
wrong  propensities  ;  the  liability  to  some  one  evil  in  a 
strong  and  dangerous  degree.  Without  an  attentive 
and  deep  cognizance  of  things  so  important,  the  per- 
son enjoined  to  maintain  sober-mindedness  will  not  at 
all  know  what  he  has  to  do ;  not  know  against  what 
he  has  to  maintain  it.  As  if  a  man  should  undertake 
to  legislate  and  govern  in  a  country,  in  ignorance  of 
the  quality  of  the  people ;  should  take  it  as  an  easy, 
straightforward  concern,  with  a  community  of  well- 
disposed  beings  ;  not  know  that  they  were  partly 
pagans,  partly  Mohammedans,  and  the  Christians  not 
much  better ! 

We  add  a  most  self-evident  thing ;  that  it  is  of  the 
essence  of  sober-mindedness  to  maintain  a  systematic 
strong  restraint  on  the  passions,  fancy,  temper,  appe- 
tites. This  was  probably  the  most  direct  object  of  the 
apostle's  exhortation  to  young  men.  In  these  respects, 
it  is  the  very  first  point  of  sober-mindedness  for  youth 
to  be  aware  how  perilous  their  condition  is.  They  are 
pleased  that  they  are  in  this  animated  season  ;  but  it 
were  very  strange,  if  they  should  not  sometimes  reflect 
on  its  circumstances  with  a  degree  of  alarm.  It  would 
be  a  fine  position,  doubtless,  tor  a  man  to  stand  on  a 
spot  where  there  was  a  powerful  action  of  all  the  ele- 
15 


166  SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 

mcnts  almost  close  around  him ; — the  cartli  he  stood 
on  blooming  with  flowers — water  thrown  in  impetuous 
tails  and  torrents  on  the  one  side — some  superb  fire 
near  at  hand  on  the  other — and  the  winds  wiiirling,  as 
if  to  exasperate  them  both;  but  he  would  need  look 
carefully  to  his  movements,  especially  if  informed  that 
others  carelessly  standing  there  had  been  whirled  into 
destruction  ;  or  if  he  saw  the  fact. 

Let  young  persons  observe  what  is  actually  becom- 
ing of  those  who  surrender  themselves  to  their  pas- 
sions and  wild  propensities.  What  numbers  !  Tiien 
in  themselves  observe  seriously  whither  these  inw^ard 
traitors  and  tempters  really  tend;  and  then  think 
whether  soberness  of  mind  be  not  a  pearl  of  great 
price,  and  whether  there  can  be  any  such  thing  with- 
out a  systematic  self-government. 

"  Whither  things  lend;'^  for  it  is  an  essential  princi- 
ple of  sober-mindedness  to  judge  of  things  viewed  in 
their  consequences.  Every  thing  tends  and  leads  to 
something  else,  which  later  thing  is  caused,  or  at  least 
affected,  by  the  preceding.  Our  whole  progressive 
existence  is  drawn  out,  so  to  speak,  upon  this  succes- 
sion of  consequences.  The  consequence  foreseen  will 
determine,  or  help  to  determine,  the  quality  of  the 
thing  present.  The  consequences  in  the  matters  of 
human  spirit  and  conduct,  can  be  foreseen.  They  are 
both  natural,  and  divinely  declared.  In  the  view  of  a 
thoughtful  mind,  the  series  stretches  away  into  remote 
prospect.  How  far  does  it  stretch  on?  through  all 
life,  to  death,  to  judgment,  into  eternity!  The  mad- 
ness, then,  of  taking  a  thing  just  as  what  it  is  this  hour, 
day,  or  even  year!  This  is  a  thoughtless  folly,  not 
to  be  excused  even  in  early  youth.  If  youth  have  been 
but  tolerably  instructed  in  their  education,  they  can 
understand  enough  to  make  it  their  own  fault  and  their 
sin,  to  be  insensible  or  unbelieving  when  consequen- 
ces are  pointed  out  to  them. 

It  is  to  young  persons  that  all  we  have  been  repre- 
senting, is  to  be-  considered  as  especially  addressed. 
Now,  will  the  inculcation  of  sober-mindedness,  in  so 


SOBER-MINDEDNESS.  1G7 

many  grave  particulars,  be  deemed  by  them  a  hard  and 
austere  statement  of  their  duty?  Then  let  them  hon- 
estly consider  which  of  these  principles  they  can  do 
without,  and  yet  be  safe  and  happy.  Which  of  them 
may  be  safely  spared  and  neglected  ?  Can  they  do 
without  a  prevalence  of  sound  reason  in  their  minds? 
Some  settled,  fixed,  master-principles  to  determine 
judgment,  choice,  and  conduct?  Serious  considera- 
tion, for  fixing  those  principles  and  applying  ihem  7  A 
care  not  to  be  misled  and  carried  away  by  accidental 
impressions,  occasional  feelings,  and  slight  partial 
views  of  a  matter?  A  sense  of  the  Almighty's  sanc- 
tion and  authority  in  the  principles  that  are  to  govern 
them  ?  An  attentive  observation  of  the  condition  of 
their  own  minds  ?  An  habitual  restraint  on  passions 
and  propensities  ?  A  consideration  of  the  consequen- 
ces of  things? — These  constitute  soberness  of  mind. 
Now  which  of  these  can  they  safely  do  without?  Let 
them  consider  which  they  would  reject,  and  then  con- 
sider what  will  follow.  Shall  it  be.  the  solemn  acknow 
iedgment  of  the  divine  authority?  or  the  necessity  of 
established  principles,  tlioughtfully  adopted  and  firmly 
held  ?  or  the  necessity  of  a  careful  government  of  the 
passions  ?  or  the  looking  forward  to  consequences  ? 
But  in  truth,  it  is  idle  to  talk  of  sparing  or  rejecting 
one.  For  oo  one  of  these  can  be  rejected  without 
rejecting  them  all.  They  will  be  all  adopted  by  those 
young  persons  who  are  aware  what  important  use 
they  have  for  them. 

Young  persons  of  any  hopefulness  will  often  have 
serious  thoughts  about  what  is  to  be  the  main  grand 
purpose  of  their  life.  They  will  be  perfectly  aware 
that  there  is  for  the  object  of  (heir  existence,  some- 
thing greater,  and  higher,  and  ampler,  than  any  mere 
pleasures  of  the  youthful  season  ;  and  then  the  particu- 
lar pursuits  in  life  to  which  they  may  be  looking  for- 
ward. Immense  interests  are  exhibited  before  them, 
as  immortal  natures.  It  is  for  them  to  consider,  wheth- 
er they  will  be  consigned  down  just  merely  to  this,  to 
be  gay  and  joyous  creatures  for  a  few  years,  and  busy 


168  SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 

ones  the  rest?  Or  whether  they  shall  early  in  life 
have  a  greater  purpose  and  concern,  rising  ahove  the 
world,  and  extending  beyond  time.  J\ow  here  is  to 
be  the  application  of  those  principles  we  were  endeav- 
ouring to  ilhistrate  ;  and  without  them  we  have  ample 
and  deplorable  manifestation  what  the  notion  and  pur- 
pose of  life  in  young  persons  will  be. 

But  this  sober-mindedness  is  necessary  for  the  sub- 
ordinate schemes  and  pursuits  of  life.  In  the  want  of 
it,  a  young  person  may  form  schemes  ill  adapted  to 
his  character,  his  qualifications,  and  abilities — or  his 
circumstances.  For  want  of  it,  many  have  rushed  into 
wild  ill-concerted  projects,  which  have  ended  disas- 
trously, or  frustrated  the  most  laudable  designs.  "What 
important  affair  in  life  can  that  be,  what  pursuit,  what 
business,  that  does  not  require,  or  will  not  be  the  bet- 
ter for  sound  reason,  solid  principles,  consideration  of 
consequences,  acknowledgment  of  the  divine  will? 

Companionship  and  friendly  connexions  are  among 
the  most  favourite  interests  of  young  persons.  Sober- 
mindedness  is  eminently  important  here.  Wisdom 
and  goodness  are  probably  not  so  superabundant 
throughout  the  youthful  tribe,  that  a  young  person 
may  think  he  can  be  in  no  danger.  Let  young  per- 
sons consider,  that  they  put  themselves,  with  respect 
to  very  important  interests,  at  the  command,  in  no 
small  degree,  of  their  associates.  They  yield  to  the 
effect  of  sympathy  and  conformity.  They  will  he  ren- 
dered more  favourably  disposed  to  some  things,  and 
more  averse  to  others.  Now  if  it  should  be  that  what 
they  are  rendered  more  averse  to  is,  seriousness,  piety, 
the  service  of  God,  seeking  the  good  offered  by  the 
Redeen\er !  Let  young  persons  confess  to  conscience, 
whether  they  nev^er  feel  this  effect.  But.  that  is  pur- 
chasing the  pleasure  at  a  fearful  cost!  What  is  to 
prevent  so  disastrous  a  commerce,  but  soberness  of 
mind  ?  This  would  keep  them  clearly  aware  that  the 
mere  pleasure  of  friendly  association  is  a  trifle  as  com- 
pared with  the  influence  and  effect. 

Soberness  of  mind  would  be  of  high  value  to  voung 


SOBER-MINDEDNESS.  169 

people,  as  to  the  terms  on  which  they  shall  stand  with 
what  is  called  the  world.  That  is  the  denomination 
for  a  sort  of  system  of  maxims,  customs,  modes,  and 
fashions.  It  takes  upon  itself  a  high  and  tyrannic  au- 
thority, if  we  may  judge  from  the  number  oi"  submis- 
sive slaves.  Young  people  appear  early  to  recognize 
a  kind  of  conscience  and  religious  reverence  tov/ards 
this  authority.  They  must  do  as  the  icorkl  does — dare 
not  presume  to  be  out  of  the  mode — anxiously  study 
the  dictate  and  watch  the  movement  of  this  '■^  dread 
sovereign.''^  If  there  were  but  half  as  much  attention 
and  submissive  feeling  toward  the  Lord  of  heaven 
and  earth!  But  think  of  a  person,  young  or  old,  rever- 
ing this  stupid  idol,  and  disregarding  Him  !  •  Now  the 
quality  enjoined  by  the  apostle  would  set  a  young 
person  above  this  arrogated  authority.  He  would  per- 
ceive an  infinite  quantity  of  vanity,  absurdity,  and 
something  still  worse,  in  this  domineering  system,  and 
assume  a  dignified  independence.  Not  that  such  a 
young  person  would  exhibit  himself  in  a  laboured  and 
ostentatious  singularity.  There  is  a  vast  distance 
between  this,  and  a  sedulous,  obsequious,  and  punc- 
tilious conformity.  The  firmly  sober-minded  young 
person  would,  in  numerous  instances  and  considerable 
degrees,  set  at  nought  the  prescriptions  of  the  despot ; 
w^ould  act  just  as  he  thought  proper  ;  and  would  have 
his  reason  to  assign:  "I  really  have  something  else 
io  do  with  my  time  and  thoughts,  than  to  study  and 
follow  your  caprices,  modes,  and  vanities."  So  much 
for  the  situation  of  young  persons  in  the  world.  For 
what  concerns  their  preparation  to  go  oid  of  it,  there 
is  the  utmost  necessity  for  every  thing  implied  in  so- 
ber-mindedness. 

Let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that  youth  will  soon  be  pass- 
ed away.  Nay,  there  is  even  the  wish,  in  its  possess- 
ors, for  the  larger  portion  of  it  to  haste  away  !  A 
most  striking  illustration  of  the  vanity  of  our  state  on 
earth  1  It  rapidly  runs  on  to  the  longed-for  age  of 
twenty.  But  then  it  retains  its  impetus  of  motion,  and 
runs  beyond  that  point  as  fast  as  it  ran  thither.  With 
15* 


170  SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 

what  magical  fleetncss  it  passes  away,  till'it  loses  its 
quality,  and  life  is  youth  no  more  !  But  in  the  case  of 
not  a  "few  young  persons,  their  youth  is  appointed  to 
be  the  whole  of  their  life.  Now  supposing  that,  in  any 
/ particular  instance,  this  were  certain  and  known:  in 
that  instance  all  opinions  would  agree  as  to  the  pro- 
priety and  necessity  of  sober-mindedness.  The  vain- 
est, the  giddiest,  unless  totally  ignorant  or  unbelieving 
of  hereafter,  say,  "  Yes,  certainly  he  or  she  should  be 
sober-minded."  But  now  judge  soberly  whether  the 
propriety  is  reversed  by  the  circumstance  o{  uncertain- 
ty ;  that  a  young  person  may  only  have  his  youth  for 
the  whole  of  his  life.  When  this  may  be  the  case, 
were  it  n6t  infatuation  to  live  as  if  it  most  certainly 
would  not?  But  assuming  that  life  will  be  prolonged 
into  the  more  advanced  stages,  consider,  that  then  a 
great  change  of  feeling  from  that  of  youth  will  cer- 
tainly take  place.  There  will  be  an  altered  estimate 
of  many  things,  and  altered  feeling ;  a  somewhat 
changed  colour  over  the  scene  of  life.  Experience,  dis- 
appointment, difficulty,  will  have  begun  their  process. 
Now  consider ;  is  it  not  a  most  ungracious  thing,  that 
the  altered  state  of  feeling  in  more  advanced  life,  should 
come  just  wholly  as  disappointment,  as  mortifying  ex- 
perience, as  sober  sense  forced  upon  reluclant  folly  1 
Whereas,  sober-mindedness  in  youth  might  have  an- 
ticipated a  great  deal ;  might,  through  wisdom,  hav§ 
made  the  change  much  more  smooth;  might  have 
caused  it  to  be  much  less,  and  less  mortifying,  and 
made  it  less  reproachful  in  reflection  on  the  sanguine 
delusion  of  early  life.  It  is  a  bad  sign  in  youth  to  be 
utterly  heedless  of  the  dictates  of  the  experience  of 
persons  more  advanced  in  life.  It  is  indeed  impossible 
for  youth  to  enter  JuIIy  into  the  spirit  of  such  experi- 
ence. But  to  despise  it,  to  fancy  it  proceeds  entirely 
from  disappointment,  mortified  feeling,  moroseness,  or 
the  mere  coldness  of  age,  augurs  ill — and  so  these 
young  persons  themselves  will  ihihk,  when  they,  in 
their  Turn,  come  to  inculcate  the  lessons  of  their  more 
aged  experience. 


SOBER-MINDEDNESS.  171 

We  would  enforce  one  more  consideration ;  things 
will  have  their  consequences.  If  there  be  a  vain,  gid- 
dy, thoughtless,  ill-improved  youth,  the  effects  of  it  will 
infallibly  come  in  after  life.  Tf  there  be  a  neglected 
understanding,  a  conscience  feebly  and  rudely  consti- 
tuted, good  principles  but  slightly  fixed  or  even  appre- 
hended, an  habitual  levity  of  spirit,  a  chase  of  frivolities, 
a  surrender  to  the  passions  ;  the  natural  consequences 
of  these  will  follow.  What  will  they  be,  when  a  man 
is  advanced  into  the  field  of  important  and  difficult 
duties  ?  when  he  shall  himself  be  required  to  be  a 
counsellor  of  youth  ?  when  he  shall  be  put  upon  strong 
trials  of  both  his  judgment  and  conscience;  when  he 
shall  have  to  sustain  afflictions;  when  advancing  age 
shall  force  him  to  see  that  he  shall  ere  long  have  to 
leave  life  itself  behind?  Sometimes  happily,  even  in 
the  advanced  life  of  such  a  person,  the  power  of  reli- 
gion, the  converting  Spirit  of  Christ  comes  on  him,  and 
in  a  partial  measure  suspends  and  reverses  these  natu- 
ral consequences  of  his  unhappy  youth.  But  then  his 
bitterest  regret  is,  that  it  was  through  such  a  youth 
that  he  advanced  into  life. 

We  add  one  consideration  more,  which  we  would 
press  on  young  minds  with  peculiar  force.  They  love 
cheerfulness,  spiritedness,  vivacity ;  and  they  are  right- 
But  then  !  on  the  supposition  of  life  being  prolonged, 
would  they  be  content  to  expend  away  the  greatest 
portion  of  this  animation  in  the  beginning  ol'  life  ? 
Would  they  drink  out  the  precious  wine  of  life  in  the 
morning,  and  leave  but  the  dregs  for  the  evening  of 
life's  day?  If  there  be  any  possible  way  of  throwing 
a  large  portion  of  this  vital  element,  this  animation, 
into  the  latter,  the  latest  part  of  life,  were  not  that  the 
highest  wisdom  ?  Will  there  be  young  persons  ready 
to  answer  gaily  and  carelessly  to  this,  "Never  fear  ! 
doubtless  there  will  be  spirit  and  animation  enough 
for  the  whole  length  of  life,  how  much  soever  we  riot 
now."  We  answer  them,  "  Look  whether  the  fact  be 
so.  You  know  many  persons  far  advanced  in  age. 
As  to  some  of  them,  you  happen  to  know,  that  in  their 


172  SOBER-MINDEDNESS. 

youth  they  were  gay  and  vivacious  in  a  high  degree; 
their  spirits  blazed  away  in  mirth  and  amusement; 
they  expended  their  vivacity  without  hmit  or  care. 
'Never  fear  !'  they  said.  They  have  passed  through 
many  stages  since ;  but,  very  naturally,  have  never 
applied  themselves  in  earnest  to  their  highest  concerns ; 
they  have  done  their  best  to  keep  up  their  spirits  as  a 
substitute  for  that.  But  how  do  you  behold  them  nou-  ? 
It  is  true  there  are  instances  of  great  natural  animal 
spirits,  where  a  considerable  measure  remains  even  in 
a  late  period  of  an  ill-improved  life.  When  it  is  mereli/ 
this,  however,  you  feel  little  complacency  in  seeing  it; 
when  you  are  a  little  reflective,  you  rev^olt  from  sym- 
pathy. But  how  often  you  see  in  the  oM  persons 
who  spent  so  gay  a  youth,  an  extinction  of  all  the  fire  1 
Sometimes  they  try  to  brighten  up  for  a  moment ;  but 
they  betray  an  exhaustion  and  desertion.  They  are 
sensible  that  life  is  nearly  gone  by.  But  its  close  they 
cannot  bear  to  think  of,  no  more  than  when  they  were 
young  ;  but  have  no  longer  the  youthful  means  of 
driving  away  the  thought.  They  are  sometimes  pen- 
sively gloomy  ;  often  peevishly  and  morosely  so.  Oh  ! 
had  they  but  in  early  liie  consecrated  the  animation  of 
their  spirits,  by  giving  a  larger  share  of  it  to  God.  to 
reserve  it  for  them  !  Had  they  often  tempered  and 
repressed  the  vivacity  of  their  hearts,  by  solemn 
thoughts  of  hereafter,  by  a  vigorous  application  to  wis- 
dom !  they  might  have  been  fired  with  spirit  and  ani- 
mation now,  which  not  the  approach  of  death  could 
chill  or  quench  !  nay,  would  have  burnt  the  brighter  in 
that  formidable  atmosphere  !  Look  at  this  delightful 
animation  in  the  end  of  life  !  Happily  there  are  such 
examples.  Some  signal  instance  wilhin  ih-^se  waUs 
may  occur  to  your  thoughts.  Very  advanced  life,  as 
full  of  spirit,  and  animated  sentiment,  and  ardour,  and 
indefatigable  activity,  as  ever  that  person's  youth  could 
have  been,  and  religion  the  life  of  it  all  I"* 

*  Mr.  Foster  referred  to  Dr.  Ryland,  Tutor  of  die  Theologi- 
cal Seminary,  Bristol ;  the  immediate  predecessor  of  Robert 


FALSE  GROU|s'DS  OF  SUPERIORITY,   ETC.       173 

But  to  attain  this  in  age.  the  spirit  must  be  temper- 
ed and  consecrated  in  youth.  And  that  wise  and  hap- 
py youth  may  answer  the  thoughtless,  volatile,  gay 
ones,  when  they  ask,  "Why  do  you  thus  restrain  and 
repress  your  lively  spirit  with  grave  thoughts  and  hard 
exercises  ?"  he  may  answer,  '■  Because  I  hope  to  have 
vivacity  at  a  period  of  life,  it^  I  reach  it,  when  I  fear?/ow 
will  be  oppressed  with  gloom." 


XIX. 

FALSE  GROUNDS  OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS. 

"  Stand  by  thyself,  come  tmt  near  to  me  ;  for  I  am 
Jwlier  than  thou.'''' — We  are  all  perfectly  well  acquaint- 
ed with  the  principle,  that  self-love  is  the  first  law  of 
nature, — acquainted  with  it  as  a  maxim  ;  and  as  a 
matter  of  experimental  feeling.  No  one  ever  w^aited 
to  be  tausrht  it  as  a  point  of  moral  truth. 

It  would  be  a  task  requiring  very  great  labour  and 
discrimination,  to  determine  the  just  extent  of  this  prin- 
ciple ;  how  far,  and  on  what  conditions,  consistently 
with  eternal  rectitude,  the  one  human  being  may  pre- 
fer himself,  and:  his  own  interests,  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures and  their  interests.  In  some  manner  and  degree 
he  inevitably  must  do  so.  His  own  being  is  his  only 
being,  and  therefore  all  the  interests  of  existence  must 
centre  there.  In  the  midst  of  a  universe  of  beings,  it 
is  still  himself  that  is  the  most  interesting  object  to 
himself. 

,    But  then  there  immediately  meets  him  the  solemn 
law,  from  the  Author  of  his  being,  the  Perfection  and 

Hall,  as  Pastor  of  the  Church,  in  whose  "  house  of  prayer  "  these 
Lectures  were  delivered. 


174  FALSE   GROUNDS 

the  Judge  of  all  righteousness, — -'Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbour  as  thyself."  This  cannot  be  intended  in 
the  absolutely  and  rigorously  literal  sense ;  but  it 
owist  be  dictated  in  a  meaning  which  presses  severely, 
all  round,  on  the  sphere  of  exclusive  self-love;  so 
severely,  as  to  compress  and  crush  that  affection  into  a 
grievous  narrowness  of  space;  unless  it  can  escape 
into  liberty  and  action  some  other  way, — in  some 
modified  quality.  There  ?,s  a  way  in  which  it  can  ex- 
pand and  indulge  itself  without  violating  the  solemn 
law  imposed,  namely,  that  self-love,  or  self-interest, 
should  be  exalted  to  such  a  temper,  that  its  gratifica- 
tion, its  gratification  of  ?7.'?e//— should  actually  very 
much  consist  in  promoting  the  welfare  of  others.  This 
is  benevolence,  or  charity ;  and  perfect  benevolence 
would  so  combine,  as  almost  to  identify,  the  interest  a 
man  would  feel  concerning  his  own  good,  with  that 
which  he  would  feel  concerning  the  good  of  others. 
Thus  self-love,  though  vitally  centering  in  self,  would 
be  continually  going  out  in  beneficent  exercise  on  the 
happiness  of  others — as  self-love  ;  maintaining  still 
that  nature^  it  would  be  going  out  in  this  exercise. 
Self-love  and  social  becoming  thus  in  a  very  great  de- 
gree the  same,  the  great  law  would  be  fulfilled  with- 
out repressing  and  crushing  self-love  in  order  to  fulfil 
it.  This  is  a  combining,  uniting  spirit,  which  makes 
it  my  happiness  that  th^y  should  be  happy.  But  look 
on  mankind,  and  see  whether  the  self-inierest.  the  self- 
love,  is  not  generally  a  dissociating  and  hostile  princi- 
ple, which  is  intent  on  my  good  as  dissevered  from 
theirs,  and  often  in  contrast  to  theirs,  and  at  the  ex- 
pense of  it. 

The  hostile  quality  of  self-love  is  eminently  con- 
spicuous in  men's  self- estimation^  as  in  comparison 
with  other  men.  The  very  pleasure  of  feelf-estimation 
consists  generall}'- — in  what?  not  in  the  sense  of  being, 
conformed  to  a  certain  rule  and  standard,  but  of  being 
in  assumption  superior  to  certain  other  persons,  invidi- 
ously brought  into  contrast ;  insomuch  that  could  it 
be  that  they  should  suddenly  rise  to  an  equality  or  su- 


OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS.  175 

periority,  it  would  cause  a  feeling  of  mortification  as  to 
myself,  and  bitterness  against  ^/ie?J2.  Think  how  often 
men  are  pleased  the  most  with  the  faults  of  those 
with  whom  they  compare  themselves.  Those  are  the 
delectable  points  which  the  eager  glance  fixes  upon  ! 
Those  are  the  flowers  where  the  honey  is  found !  and 
what  pleasure  to  detect  new  ones  during  the  compari- 
son !  and  what  a  disposition  to  detract  from  the  unde- 
niable, better  properties  in  them, — that  our  own  may 
appear  the  brighter !  What  jealousy,  mortification, 
and  even  hatred,  when  evident  superiority,  in  worthi- 
ness or  abilities,  may  happen  to  come  into  compari- 
son !  In  all  manner  of  departments  and  professions 
you  see  the  prevalence  of  this  hostile,  malevolent  self- 
estimation. 

Even  in  the  advantage  of  personal  appearance,  with 
what  internal  exultation  the  aclmowledged  or  self-re- 
puted beauty  looks  on  objects  less  favoured  by  the  cas- 
ualty of  nature;  does  not,  however,  say,  "Come  not 
near  me  " — rather,  "  come,"  for  the  sake  of  contrast ! 
Even  in  such  a  thing  as  the  raiment  and  adorning  of 
the  body.  In  every  accomplishment,  attainment,  tal- 
ent, art,  profession.  In  property,  and  all  that  is  de- 
nominated the  favours  of  fortune.  On  the  strength  of 
such  things,  what  millions  of  proud  emotions  there  are 
every  day  in  the  hearts  of  human  creatures  !  This  is 
the  kind  sympathetic  fraternity  of  our  depraved  race  ! 
and  in  the  greatest  number  of  the  instances,  the  point 
of  complacency  is,  that  the  good  which  /  possess,  or 
think  1  do,  my  fellow-mortals  do  not — those  of  them 
that  I  am  comparing  myself  with.  I  feel  not,  perhaps, 
a  pleasure  that  simply  and  abstractedly  they  do  not 
possess  the  good  in  question  ;  but  a  pleasure  that  they 
are  put  helow  me  in  not  possessing  it ;  so  that  it  would 
be  a  grievance  to  me  that  they  should  possess  it,  since 
they  then  would  not  be  Ibelow  me;  the  gratification  of 
my  pride  being  a  thing  far  dearer  to  me  than  their 
happiness.  So  intensely  base  in  principle  is  this 
pride ! 

But  it  may  also  be  mistaken  and  self-deluded  in  its 


176  FALSE  GROUNDS 

presumption,  as  to  the  fact  cf  euperioriiy.  In  many 
instances,  the  man  who  is  elated  in  this  pride  of  supe- 
riority may  really  not  possess  that  which  he  assumes 
as  his  just  ground  for  pride — and  in  the  most  impor- 
tant case  of  all,  the  verij  pride  itself  is  a  proof  ihni  he 
does  not  possess  the  supposed  good;  that  is,  in  the 
case  of  the  pride  of  "holiness,"  the  pride  of  religious 
virtue,  if  we  may  so  express  it.  The  language  and 
spirit  of  the  Prophet's  words  expose  a  man  as  a  stran- 
ger to  true  holiness,  whatever  may  be  the  compara- 
tive state  between  him  and  the  person  to  whom  he 
thus  speaks  ;  and  on  whatever  he  may  found  his  arro- 
gant pretensions. 

But  to  think,  how  a  man's  ruhng  vice  may  befool 
him  to  make  an  ostentation  of  himself  in  a  certain 
character  which  the  very  ostentation  itself  is  the  proof 
that  he  does  not  possess !     The  person  addressed  in 
such  spirit  and  terms — ''  I  am  holier  than  thou,"  might 
have  replied,  "  That  might  easily  be  ; — I  d©  not  wish 
to  make  comparisons,  but  this  manner  of  announcing 
the  fact  appears  to  me  a  bad  sign.     Because,  holiness 
implies  much  communication  with  God,  and  I  have 
always  understood  that  that  tended  to  abase  and  hum- 
ble a  man  in  his  own  esteem."     He  might  have  re- 
plied— "  What,  then,  is  it  a  cause  of  pleasure  to  you 
that  1  saould  be  less  holy  than  yourself?     Is  holiness 
something  else  than  goodness  ?  or  does  goodness  ex- 
clude benevolence  ?     Would  you  rather  have  cause  to 
condemn  me  than  approve?  to  despise  me  than  love  and 
respect  ?"     Or  again — "  Stand  olf,"  you  say ;  '•  why,  I 
should  have  thought  that  a  holy  temper  of  the  soul 
would  rather  have  wished  to  invite  and  attract,  in 
order  to  assimilate ;  in  order  to  exert  a  benign  and 
purifying  influence. —  That  was  the  spirit  of  the  most 
illustrious  saints, — and  will  be  of  their  Lord,  when  he 
shall  be  revealed  on  the  earth.     Is  it  then  the  aim  and 
use  of  your  holiness  to  n^ake  a  kind  of  god  of  your- 
self, for  me  to  stand  in  awe  of,  rather  than  to  draw  me 
with  you  to  adore  the  true  God  ?     Do  you  want  to 
divide  the  honour  with  the  Supreme  Holiness?    If 


OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS,  177 

you  were  an  angel  the  case  would  not  be  so.  Is  not 
holiness  a  resemblance,  as  far  as  it  exists,  to  God  ? 
But  he  does  not  say  to  me,  '  Stand  at  a  distance,  come 
not  near  to  me.'  " 

The  disposition  to  arrogate  the  dignity  of  holiness, 
— in  other  words,  of  religious  worth  and  excellence, 
has  never  become  extinct  among  men,  nor  the  quite 
consistent  disposition  to  turn  it  to  the  use  of  pride. 
We  specify  a  few  of  the  many  grounds  of  pretension, 
on  which  this  assumption  of  holiness  sustains  itself, 
and  takes  authority  for  its  pride  of  comparison  with 
other  men. 

In  some  instances,  an  assumption  of  superior  holi- 
ness has  been  made  upon  the  ground  of  belonging  ta 
a  certain  division,  or  class,  of  mankind  ;  a  class  having 
its  distinction  in  the  circumstance  of  descent  and  na- 
tivity, or,  in  some  artificial  constitution  of  societ)% 
Thus  the  ancient  Jews, — in  virtue  merely  of  being 
JeAvs.  Imagine  the  worst  Jew  comparing  himself  with 
Aristides,  Phocion,  or  Socrates.  The  Brahmins,  m. 
virtue  of  a  pretended  pre-eminently  holy  descent ;  an 
emanation  from  the  head  of  their  creating  god.  In 
popish  countries,  the  numerous  ecclesiastical  class. 
Something  of  this  even  in  Protestant  England,  within 
a  period  not  altogether  gone  beyond  remembrance. 
In  these  instances  there  has  been  an  assumption  of 
holiness  independently  of  individual  personal  chara'c- 
ter.  Think  of  such  things  as  here  recounted!  What 
an  infamy  to  perverted  human  reason,  that  any  thing 
which  might  leave  the  individual  evidently  bad,  in 
heart  and  hfe,  could  yet  be  taken  as  constituting  him 
the  reverse  of  had,  that  is,  holy  !  An  absurdity  paral- 
lel to  transubstantiation.  Happily,  among  us,  such  a 
pernicious  delusion,  in  a  good  measure,  is  done  away. 
We  dare  not  assert  that  no  one  takes  any  credit  to 
himself,  for  example,  on  the  circumstance  of  belong- 
ing to  a  consecrated  profession ;  or,  on  the  circum- 
stance of  descent  from  an  eminently  pious  ancestry; 
or  of  relationship,  or  friendly  connexion,  with  persons 
and  families  of  distinguished  excellence.  But  as  to 
16 


178  FALSE   GROUNDS 

the  benefit  of  this  kindred  or  connexion  witli  the  "  ex- 
cellent of  the  eartli,-'  let  it  be  remembered  that  even 
"  Noah,  Daniel,  and  Job,"  could  not  "  have  saved  sona 
or  daughters."  In  fact,  the  absence  of  personal  holi- 
ness is  even  still  more  fatal  in  such  a  case.  It  were  a 
worthy  ground  of  pride — "  1  am  connected  or  related 
to  persons  whose  excellence,  which  I  value  myself 
upon,  is  mj^  condemnation  !" 

In  many  periods  and  places  men  have  reputed  them- 
selves "holy"  on  the  ground  of  a  punctilious  observ- 
ance of  religious  forms  and  ceremonies,  whether  of 
divine  appointment  or  human  invention.  This  took 
the  place  of  the  true  religious  sanctity  among  the 
Jews.  It  is  a  grand  characteristic  of  paganism.  It 
actually  stands  instead  of  religion  and  morality  among 
the  far  greater  part  of  the  people  under  the  dominion 
of  the  Romish  church.  Superstitious  and  ceremonial 
observances  have  their  strong  hold  on  human  being  in 
this  very  delusion,  that  they  will  do  instead  of  real 
piety  and  morality.  A  remainder  of  this  sanctioned 
delusion  has  continued  too  apparent  among  our  own 
people.  There  has  been  a  great  deficiency  of  decided 
exertion  to  explode  it.  The  ignorant  people  have 
been  allowed,  and  in  many  instances  expressly  war- 
ranted, to  repose  an  undue  confidence  in  some  rites 
and  external  observances.  An  intrinsic  and,  as  it 
were,  magical  virtue  in  them  has  been  allowed  and 
warranted  by  many  who  should  have  regarded  such  a 
delusion  with  horror,  and  been  zealous  to  teach  them 
better.  But  to  come  to  a  less  superstitious  form  of 
the  evih  It  is  to  be  feared  there  are  some  among  us 
who  venture  a  delusive  assumption  on  the  ground  of  a 
regular  attention  to  the  external  services  of  religion ; 
they  habitually  attend  on  public  worship  ;  are  gene- 
rally seen  in  the  more  occasional  services  of  a  reli- 
gious nature  ;  and  even  maintain  some  regular  forms  of 
religion  in  the  family.  On  the  strength  of  this,  they 
deem  themselves  placed  at  an  immeasurable  distance 
from  the  plainly  careless  and  irreligious  part  of  the 
community.     They  know  that  men  ought  to  have  re- 


OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS.  179 

lic^ion,  and  ihey  deem  this  to  be  sufficiently  such. 
They  are  therefore  on  Ihe  right  side  of  the  essential 
distinction  between  o-odly  and  ungodly.  But  we  have 
cause  to  know  that  all  this  may  be, — and  yet  no  vital 
transforming  prevalence  of  religion  in  the  heart;  no 
communion  with  the  Father  of  spirits  and  of  lii>-hts  ; 
no  penitential,  self-abased,  affectionate  application  of 
the  soul  to  its  Redeemer;  no  tendency  to  go  forth  in 
contemplation  of  the  grand  objects  of  Aiith.  Yet  such 
persons  may  often  indulge  in  a  self-complacent  com- 
parison of  themselves  with  other  classes  of  human 
character.  When  they  are  beginning  to  do  so.  let 
them  turn  to  the  serious  consideration,  whether  this  be 
a  state  of  mind  adapted  to  harmonize  with  what  we 
are  taught  to  conceive  of  the  spirit  and  emploj^menls 
of  saints  in  heaven — and  while  so  little  prepared  to  be 
associated  with  that  higher  order,  they  may  withhold 
their  contempt  from  a  class  they  see  below  them. 

Another  ground  of  such  assumption  and  pride  is 
general  rectitude  of  practical  conduct,  separate  from 
the  true  religious  principle  of  moral  exceUence.  We 
need  not  particularize,  in  the  description  of  such  a 
conduct.  Let  it  be  that  which  shall  pass  with  honour 
through  society,  and  on  the  whole,  be  able  to  chal- 
lenge and  defy  censure.  Such  a  man  may  behold 
with  proud  contempt  the  paltry  sinners  around  him. 
This  now  is  the  honourable  exterior,  the  practical 
man ;  and  certainly,  in  some  views,  he  is  a  valuable 
member  of  society.  But,  are  we  to  look  no  deeper  ? 
Will  God  look  no  deeper  ?  All  this  while,  there  may 
be  no  genuine  piety.  No  real  love,  and  little  fear,  of 
God ;  little  of  deeply-principled  sensibihty  of  con- 
science. The  man,  perhaps,  idolizes  himself,  and  is 
determined  that  his  idol  shall  have  respectable  attri- 
butes. A  flagrant  blemish  would  damp  his  worship. 
He  scorns  to  do  a  base,  unjust,  dishonourable  thing, 
because  it  is  unworthy  of  him — beneath  his  dignity. 
He  is  resolved,  perhaps,  to  command  the  respect  of 
mankind  ;  perhaps  has  resolution  enough  to  act  on 
the  sound  wisdom  that  virtue  is  the  besf  policy.     He 


180 


FALSE   GROUNDS 


has  acquired  a  character  for  worth, — and  is  resolved 
to  maintain  it.  Amidst  all  this,  there  is  no  humilia- 
tion before  his  Sovereign  Judge ; — no  affecting  and 
atllicting  consciousness  of  the  perversities  of  his 
heart; — no  faithful  investigation  of  his  motives  and 
principles  ; — no  perception  of  the  numberless  practical 
defects  in  even  his  actions  ; — no  profound  conviction 
of  his  need  of  the  divine  mercy  and  the  merits  of 
Christ — and  because  he  has  not  these,  he  can  freely 
indulge  his  pride  in  comparing  himself  with  his  fel- 
low-mortals. But  is  really  this  "  the  holiness  without 
which  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord  ?" 

The  pride  of  self-estimation  for  goodness  or  holiness, 
is  apt  to  be  betrayed  by  persons  who  have  preserved 
a  character  substantially  free  from  reproach,  against 
those  who  have,  in  some  known  instance,  fallen  into 
great  sin.  It  might  have  been  a  case  in  which  they 
were  encountered  by  sudden,  or  complicated,  or  very 
extraordinary  temptation,  such  as  all  should  pray 
earnestly  to  be  sav^ed  from.  The  delinquent  may 
have  penitently  deplored  the  transgression  through 
many  subsequent  years.  It  may  hav* e  contributed  to 
render  him  cautious  and  self-diffident  ever  since ; 
and  the  subsequent  course  of  conduct  may  have  been 
exemplary  ;  the  painful  recollection  has  often  served 
to  repress  his  temper  and  restrain  his  language  when 
he  has  had  to  reprehend  w^ong  conduct  in  others. 
But  it  has  been  often  enough  seen,  that  another  person 
who  has  been  happy  enough,  from  whatever  cause, 
not  to  incur  any  such  marked  blemish  on  his  charac- 
ter, will  assume  atone  of  high  superiority  against  him, 
especially  if  provoked  in  any  case  of  competition, 
though  ke  may  never  have  had  the  same  strength  of 
temptation  to  combat  with ; — may  never  think  of  as- 
cribing his  exemption  to  any  higher  cause  than  his 
own  good  principles  ; — and  may  be  quite  destitute  of 
some  valuable  qualities  the  other  possesses.  The 
whole  life  of  this  self-applauder  may.  have  been  little 
better  than  a  series  of  negatives.  His  faulty,  peni- 
tent brother  may  have  done  much  good.    If  a  man  of 


OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS.  181 

ordinary  rate  had  boasted  against  Peter,  that  he  liad 
never  dishonoured  himseU"  by  any  crime  comparable 
to  denying  Christ, — Peter  would  have  answered  more 
in  sorrow  than  in  anger  ;  but  what  would  have  been 
thought  of  such  a  boaster,  telling  Peter,  "I  am  holier 
thanlhou  ?" 

We  notice  a  very  different  mode  of  this  proud  self- 
estimation  and  comparison.  A  man  may  have  had  liis 
mind  by  some  means  directed  to  a  speculative  know- 
ledge of  religious  doctrine  ;  may  have  been  drawn 
into  a  train  of  reading,  thinking,  disputing  ;  may  have 
acquired  a  large  command  of  topics  and  arguments. 
We  will  suppose  that  it  is  valuable  knowledge  that 
he  has  gained  ;  that  his  opinions  are  right,  and  his 
arguments  for  them  sound.  Now  we  have  seen  too 
many  unhappy  instances,  in  evidence  that  all  this 
may  be,  and  yet  the  man  feel  little  or  nothing  of  the 
divine  and  sanctifying  power  of  rehgious  truth.  Yet 
so  ready  is  the  speculatist  and  advocate  to  take  to  him- 
self all  "the  dignity  and  excellence  of  his  subject  and 
his  cause,  that  this  man  may  take  up  a  lofty  preten- 
sion— if  not  strictly  and  formally  to  "holiness,"  yet  to 
some  meritorious  relation  to  truth  and  religion  ;  some- 
thing which  authorizes  him  in  a  high  contempt, — not 
only  of  those  who  know  nothing  about  religion,  but 
also  of  those  wdio  feel  iis  genuine  influence  and  power, 
when  they  are  feeble  in  the  speculative  intelligence 
of  it.  He  accounts  himself  to  be  in  the  confidence  of 
religion,  and  that  he  must  be  invested  with  something 
of  its  venerable  character,  when  he  can  so  authenti- 
cally declare  its  mind. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  factitious  zeal  in  the 
active  service  of  religion ;  and  that  forms  a  ground  of 
high  pretension.  You  may  have  seen  examples. 
Men  in  restless  activity ;  full  of  scheme,  and  expe- 
dient, and  experiment ,  and  ostentatious  enterprise, 
to  promote,  apparently,  the  work  of  God,  the  Chris- 
tian cause ;  seeming  ready  to  compass  sea  and  land 
for  the  purpose.  But  an  attentive  observer  could 
easily  descry,  that  the  cause  of  God  was  a  very  sec- 
16* 


182  FALSE  GROUNDS 

ondary  concern  with  them,  even  at  the  best  interpre- 
tation. Their  grand  object,  whether  they  were  con- 
scious of  it  or  not,  was  iheir  own  notoriety ;  and  the 
cause  of  rehgion  happened  to  be  that  which  would 
effectually  serve  this  purpose.  "  Come  see  my  zeal 
for  llie  Lord  of  hosts."  The  successes  and  progress, 
real  or  pretended,  of  a  good  cause,  were  recounted 
and  proclaimed  by  them  in  no  other  form  of  story, 
than  that  of  their  own  exploits  for  it.  Yet  even  such 
men  could  allow  themselves  in  arrogance  and  pride. 
There  are  a  number  of  persons  among  professing 
Christians  whose  minds  are  almost  ever  dwelling  on 
certain  high  points  of  doctrine,  sought  chiefly  in  the 
book  of  God's  eternal  decrees.  And  it  is  on  these 
doctrines  that  they  found,  in  some  manner,  an  abso- 
lute assurance  of  their  being  in  Christ,  in  the  divine 
favour,  children  of  God,  and  therefore  as  sure  of 
heaven  as  if  they  were  there.  Now  God  forbid  that, 
with  the  New  Testament  before  us,  and  a  multitude 
of  pious  examples,  we  should  deny,  or  for  an  instant 
doubt,  that  there  is  a  firm  and  rational  assurance  of 
salvation  attainable  in  this  life ;  or  that  any  one  of  us 
should  not  earnestly  seek  to  attain  it.  But  how  at- 
tained ?  whereon  founded  ?  Do  the  Scriptures  and 
reason  authorize  any  other  principle  or  process  than 
this :  that  a  man  do  most  carefully  ascertain  what  it 
is  that,  according  to  the  divine  word,  constitutes  a 
Christian;  and  then  make  a  most  faithful  investiga- 
tion into  the  state  of  his  soul  and  his  life,  to  ascertain 
whether  that  which  constitutes  a  Christian  be  act- 
ually there  ;  and  if  it  be,  to  take  the  assurance, — and 
bless  God  for  the  evidence  ;  and  bless  him  for  having 
wrought  in  them  this  preternatural  character  ?  But 
the  persons  we  speak  of  refuse  to  have  the  matter 
placed  on  this  ground.  Not  wholly  indeed  perhaps, 
for  they  will  somewhat  equivocate  -,  but  in  substance 
they  refuse  it ;  and  will  maintain  their  assurance  in- 
dependently of  it.  They  describe  ft  nearly  as  if  it 
had  come  to  them  by  a  distinct,  positive,  and  formal 
revelation  from  heaven  ;  setting  aside  all  need  of  any 


OF  SUPERIORITY  IN  HOLINESS.  183 

such  rule  of  evidence  as  we  have  spoken  of.  We  are 
not  ignorant,  that  men  of  eminent  piety  and  hoKness 
have  often  received  a  kind  oi"  blissful  illapses  and  irra- 
diations into  their  souls,  bearing  to  them  a  mystical 
testimony,  to  confirm,  and  animate  into  trium.ph,  the 
assurance  founded  on  evidence.  And  questionless, 
elevated  and  humble  piety,  in  communion  with  God, 
will  often  receive  such  rays  from  his  countenance. 
But  these  devout  spirits  have  been  careful  not  to  sub- 
stitute such  confirmatory  impressions  for  the  tangible 
basis  of  evidence  on  which  the  question  rested.  They 
recurred  to  this  in  their  repeated  self-examinations 
and  self  judgments;  and  earnestly  insisted  on  it  in  their 
religious  instructions.  As  to  the  practical  influence  of 
this  tlieir  happy  assurance,  it  has  both  served  to  rectify 
still  more  highly  their  conscience  and  moral  prin- 
ciples, and  to  repress  any  disposition  to  a  self-right- 
eous arrogance  towards  persons  less  favoured  in  point 
of  religious  confidence.  Whereas, — some  such  per- 
sons as  we  are  referring  to,  betray  that  their  assur- 
ance, which  takes  its  stand  on  so  lofty  a  position,  in- 
dependent of  a  faithful  estimate  of  the  heart  and  life, 
has  an  unsanctifying  effect;  it  slackens  and  narrows 
the  force  and  compass  of  the  jurisdiction  of  conscience  ; 
and  especially,  cherishes  in  them  the  spirit  of  self-right- 
eousness. They  can  look  wiih  pride,  not  with  pious 
gratitude,  from  a  high  and  privileged  condition,  on 
those  who  are  suffering  doubts  and  solicitude  respect- 
ing their  state  towards  God  and  a  future  world. 

We  also  name  as  one  of  the  things  made  a  ground 
of  pretension  and  pride, — the  experience  of  elafed,  ar- 
dent, enthusiastic  feelings,  in  some  semblance  of  con- 
nexion with  religion, — but  not  really  of  its  genuine  in- 
spiration. It  is  a  noble  advantage  for  religion,  and 
for  its  living  subject,  when  it  lights  upon  a  mind  of 
great  excitability,  and  vigorous  passions,  provided 
there  also  be  there  a  solid  strength  of  reason.  Even 
though  there  be  not  strong  reason,  in  this  mind  of 
strong  passions,  when  it  is  a  genuine,  and  therefore  a 


184 

sanctifjMng,  influence  of  religion  that  acts  upon  it.  tlie 
etiects  maybe  most  happy,  sometimes  most  admirable. 
So  salutary,  so  true  to  its  heavenly  origin,  is  the  in- 
fluence oi^ real  pietfj,  that  it  does  in  a  measure  supply 
the  place  and  the  want  of  strong  reason.  It  puts  the 
feelings  which  it  actuates  in  coincidence  with  correct 
reason. — even  without  the  standard  being  distinctly 
recognized.  The  passions  may  be  trusted  with  it, 
v/hen  they  could  not  with  any  other  guardian  or  tutelar 
genius:  even  more  safely  than  with  that  same  reason 
itself  alone.  As  if  a  band  of  agents  were  put  under 
the  direction  of  an  angel  instead  of  a  philosopher. 
But  unhappily  there  are  many  instances  in  which  the 
passions  are  excited  to  ardour  and  vehemence,  in  some 
sort  of  relation  to  the  truths  of  religion,  but  not  under 
its  genuine  operation.  The  passions  were  w^aiting  in 
readiness  for  some  stimulus,  for  any  stimulu;?,  for  any 
match,  to  set  them  on  fire.  The  grand  ideas  and  im- 
ages of  religion  have  in  them  something  naturally 
adapted  to  produce  great  excitement.  Those  ideas 
have  perhaps  also  been  presented  to  the  mind  under 
very  particular  circumstances  and  associations,  fitted 
to  strike  and  inflame.  So  there  has  been  caused  a 
natural,  a  sort  of  rudely  poetical  excitement  of  the 
fancy  and  passions,  in  connexion  with  religious  ideas, 
but  not  under  the  real  sanctifying  influence  of  religion. 
The  want  of  this  holy  principle  has  been  betrayed,  by 
an  utter  dereliction,  and  rout,  and  expulsion  of  sound 
notions,  the  while : — by  perhaps  a  most  grotesque 
mixture  of  low  andludicrous  fancies; — by  a  promptitude 
of  these  inflamed  passions  to  turn  suddenly  to  some 
mischief; — and  in  the  result,  by  the  predominance  of  a 
proud  contempt  in  self-comparison  with  persons  of  a 
slow,  and  grave,  and  thoughtful,  and  humble  tempera- 
ment in  religion.  The  proper  rebuke  to  such  deluded 
minds,  whenever  they  may  be  cool  enough  to  listen  to 
it,  is, — •'  You  may  be  sure  that  is  not  a  truly  pioifs 
ardour,  which  does  not  result  in  humility  towards  God, 
— in  charity  towards  your  brethren, — and  in  a  fitness 


OF  givIng  and  receiving  reproof.         185 

and  disposition  to  prosecute  the  steady  labours  and  du- 
ties of  Christian  life  ;  in  other  words,  which  does  not 
make  you  the  better  practical  Christian." 

It  was  intended  to  enforce  a  few  of  the  general  con- 
siderations corrective  of  the  delusion  and  the  vice  de- 
scribed— but  they  could  be  only  such  as  will  suggest 
themselves  to  every  thoughtful  mind.  For  example  : 
a  consideration  of  the  holiness  of  God,  and  the  depth 
and  breadth  of  his  law  ; — the  necessity  of  a  deep  know- 
ledge of  the  heart,  and  its  corruption: — of  the  grand 
purpose  and  end  of  religion; — the  special  and  peculiar 
adaptation  of  the  plan  of  redemption  by  Jesus  Christ  to 
abase  men  in  their  own  view ; — of  the  manner  in 
which  true  "holiness"  has  evinced  and  displayed  it- 
self in  the  most  eminent  human  examples  of  it;  and 
the  effect  which  the  last  judgment  will  have,  refleci- 
ively.  on  all  men's  previous  estimates  of  themselves, 
and  comparisons  with  one  another. 


XX. 

RIGHT    MODE    OF    GIVING  AXD  RECEIVING  RE- 
PROOF. 

'•  Am  I  therefore  become  your  enemy,  because  I  tell 
you  the  truth  ?" — Men  commonly  assign  a  number  of 
the  persons  and  things  witliin  their  sphere  to  the 
classes,  respectively,  of  friends  and  enemies.  There 
are  beings  that  have  in  them  an  evil  spirit  toward  us, 
and  there  are  those  that  have  a  good  one.  It  is  of 
very  great  importance  that  men  rightly  account  of 
what  are  such,  friends  and  enemies,  because  very 
much  of  what  men  are,  and  what  they  do,  depends  on 
what  they  account  friends  and  enemies.    Many  ihings 


186  RIGHT  MODE  OF  GIVING 

in  our  rotions,  lastcp,  habits,  practices,  if  traced  back 
to  the  cause,  are  what  they  are,  because  such  and 
such  men  were  regarded  by  us  as  friends  or  as  ene- 
mies. 

How  disastrous,  tlierefore.  tliat  perversity  of  appre- 
hension through  which  enemies  have  so  often  been 
accounted  friends,  and  friends  enemies!  And  espe- 
cially conspicuous  has  this  perversity  been  in  regard 
to  the  point  suggested  by  Paul,  wlietlier  it  should  be 
esteemed  the  part  of  a  friend  faithfully  to  tell  men  the 
truth; — and  whether  the  suppression  of  truth,  and  the 
substitution  of  its  opposite,  should  not  be  held  to 
mark  the  character  of  an  enemy. 

Advert  in  your  thoughts,  to  the  first  temptation  in 
the  world. — the  fii^t  communication  to  man  of  opin- 
ion and  advice,  after  God  had  finished  speaking. 
The  most  gross,  and  impious,  and  pernicious  false- 
hood was  pronounced;  what  there  was  the  most  abso- 
lute evidence  must  be  such.  And  it  was  taken  for  the 
language  of  a  friend  !  For  what  plainer  proof  can 
there  be  that  the  speaker  is  regarded  as  a  friend,  than 
that  his  advice  is  practically  taken,  when  the  taking  of 
it  involves  the  most  momentous  inierests  ? 

How  much  into  the  dark  this  fa'^t  plunges  us,  in  re- 
spect to  the  question,  "  What  really  w^as,  in  kind  and 
degree,  the  original  rectitude  of  man  ?"  The  bare 
fact  proves  irresistibly,  that  too  much  of  what  many 
systematic  divines  have  inconsiderately  wTitten,  can 
be  no  better  than  poetry. 

In  exemplification  of  how  men  have  judged  of  friends. 
— how  did  the  world  become  covered  with  a  deluge  of 
error,  but  because  those  were  accounted  friends  who 
spoke  the  reverse  of  truth?  Ask  again,  where  and 
when  has  it  been  that  flatterers  were  not  admitted  and 
welcomed  as  friends  ?  What  a  prodigious  singularity 
in  history  were  it,  if  there  were  recorded  any  nation,  or 
tribe,  or  city,  in  which  these  were  generally  and  practi- 
cally discouraged  and  silenced,  and  honest  truth  was 
the  way  to  iavour !  When  ever  was  it,  that  honest  truth 
was  the  obvious  expedient  of  self-interest  ?     Self-inter- 


AND  RECEIVING  REPROOF.  1S7 

est  with  men  is  to  be  promoted  by  giving  them  the  per- 
suasion that  we  are  their  friends.  WeU.lhen,  lias  their 
faithtulness  been  the  way  in  which  menhave  gone  about 
to  make  their  fehow-mortals  esteem  them  for  friends  ? 
How  often  has  the  amicable  state  of  feehng  been  bro- 
ken up  by  telhng  the  truth,  even  when  done  in  a  proper 
spirit  and  manner  !  The  great  apostle  himself  seems 
not  without  apprehension  of  such  an  etiect,  sincere 
as  he  was,  and  atfectionate,  and  venerable,  and  even 
speaking  to  them  with  the  authority  of  God.  And  still, 
and  always,  is  not  this  honest  expression  of  truth  one 
of  the  most  difficult  and  hazardous  things  a  friend  has 
to  do  ?  All  which  is  but  one  more  example  to  show 
that,  in  this  world,  whatever  is  the  best  in  a  thing,  is 
the  most  difficult  to  be  had,  and  to  be  kept  in  that  thing. 

But  now,  in  a  general  theoretical  judgment,  meli 
would  approve,  by  implication  at  least,  what  is  so  un- 
welcome when  it  comes  to  the  practice. 

'=  What  iDould  you  wish  your  friend  to  &e?"— "  What- 
ever else,  I  would  wish  him  to  be  sincere."  Sincere  ! 
and  what  then  ?  What  is  his  sincerity  ?  Not  a  thing 
simply  and  silently  within  himself.  ^ 

'•  What  would  you  wish  your  friend  to  he  ?" — "  That 
he  should  take  a  very  genuine  interest  in  my  welfare, 
and  be  desirous  to  promote  it."  Well,  and  is  his  sole 
and  sovereign  rule  for  consulting  and  promoting  your 
welfare  to  be,  that  he  should  always  please  you  ?  If 
he  deliberately  thinks  that  certain  things  are  true,  and 
that  though  the  representation  of  them  will  not  sound 
quite  graciously  in  your  ears,  it  is  important  to  your 
welfare  that  they  should  be  pressed  on  your  attention, 
what  is  he  to  do  ?  what  will  he  truly  seeking  to  pro- 
mote your  welfare  ? 

'•  What  would  you  wish  yoitr  friend  to  he  V — "  A  per- 
son of  a  clear,  sound,  discriminating  judgment,  and  a  de- 
cided preference,  in  all  things,  for  what  is  right."  Well, 
but  he  will  exercise  this  judgment  on  you  ;  and  would 
you  not  wish  to  have  the  benefit  of  it.  so  exercised  ? 
And  his  strong,  discerning,  conscientious  preference  of 
what  is  right,— must  he  take  care  never  to  signify  it  in 


188  RIGHT  MODE  OF  GIVING 

any  way  that  should  convey  an  admonition  or  reproach 
to  you  ? 

"  IHiat  u-mild  you  wish  your  friend  to  he  ?"— "  That 
he  should  not  be  a  man  lull  of  self-complEcency,  a  s^ell- 
idolater,  but  observant  and  severe  toward  his  oun  er- 
rors and  defects.-'  Indeed !  and  is  this  the  man  that  is 
to  be  quite  insensible  to  your  defects  and  faults  ?  is  he 
not  to  apply  the  same  law  ?  Or  if  he  does  perceive  and 
judge,  is  it  his  duty  to  judge,  is  it  his  duty  to  cherish  in 
you  that  very  self-complacency  which  you  require  he 
should  not  have  in  himself?  Is  he  to  be  content  that 
you  should  be  that  which  you  could  not  tolerate  him  to 
be? 

"  miat  u'oidd  you  wish  your  friend  to  6e?" — "I 
should  wish  he  were  a  man  that  would  include  me  ex- 
pressly in  his  petitions  to  the  God  of  all  grace,  praying 
that,  among  other  things,  I  might  be  corrected,  im- 
proved, and  delivered  from  those  evils  which  he  per- 
ceives in  me,  and  God  tar  more  clearly." 

Well  now,  are  these  evils  too  sacred  for  any  finger 
but  that  of  God  to  touch  ?  Are  you,  with  your  faults, 
like  the  holy  ark  ? — if  Uzzah  apply  a  hand  he  must  be 
smitten !  May  not  the  friend  venture  to  say  thus  to 
you — "  I  have  prayed  for  you  against  such  and  such 
things  ?"  Would  you  be  displeased  that  he  would  thus 
gently  and  seriously  excite  you  to  make  the  same  re- 
quests yourself?  Or  at  least  excite  you  to  think, 
whether  they  are  not  such  as  you  would  do  well  to 
make,  and  do  well  to  adopt  a  corresponding  self-disci- 
pline'? We  will  but  suppose  one  more  answer  to  the 
question, 

"  What  woidd  you  wish  your  friend  to  be  ?" — "  I 
would  wish  him  to  be  such  that,  as  the  last  result  of  my 
communications  with  him,  a  great  deal  of  whatever 
may  be  defective  and  wrong  in  me  shall  have  been  dis- 
ciplined away."  But  by  what  manner  of  operation,  if 
he  is  never  to  hint  at  such  a  thing  ?  Is  it  to  be  by  some 
moral  magic  7  Or  is  he  to  presume  no  farther  than  to 
admonish  by  example  ?  What !  not  even  if  he  per- 
ceives that  that  admonition  does  not  tedie  effect  ?    How 


AND  RECEIVING  REPROOF.  189 

many  pointed  suggestions  of  his  mind  is  he  to  withhold 
from  putting  into  words,  in  waiting  to  see  whether  they 
will  arise  in  your  own  thoughts  ?  May  he  not  justly 
despair  of  accomplishing  niuch  beneficial  correction,  so 
long  as  he  must  not  say  that  he  intends  or  wishes  to  do 
it  ?  so  long,  in  short,  as  he  leels  himself  in  hazard  of 
becoming,  in  your  regard,  an  "  enemy  "  by  telling  you 
the  truth  ? 

Thus  men  will  profess,  and  perhaps  unthinkingly  be- 
lieve, that  they  derive  the  most  essential  benefits  deriv- 
able ifrom  a  true  friend  ;  but  if  he  shall  offer  to  impart 
them,  he  becomes  an  "enemy!"  But  consider,  what 
an  invitation,  the  while,  this  temper  of  mind  gives  to 
real  enemies  ; — to  the  flatterer ; — to  the  designing  hyp- 
ocrite ; — to  every  imposition  the  mind  can  put  upon 
itself: — and  to  the  great  deceiver  of  souls  ;  to  any  thing 
but  salutary  truth  ! 

The  great  cause  of  this  perversity  and  repugnance 
is,  that  it  cannot  be  but  that  plain  truth,  by  whatever 
voice,  must  say  many  things  that  are  unpleasing.  All 
censure  is  so,  as  it  hurts  that  most  quick,  and  delicate, 
and  constant  of  all  feelings,  self-love.  Who  dares  to 
say  in  how  many  points  the  full  unmitigated  applica- 
tion of  truth  to  him  would  not  be  censure  ?  Who  dares 
to  say  how  many  of  these  points  might  not  be  struck 
upon  by  a  clear-sighted  friend,  that  should  unreserv- 
edly express  "  the  Truth?"  Hence  the  disposition  to  re- 
gard him  as  an  "  enemy." 

Another  thing  greatly  contributing  to  this  feeling 
toward  him  is,  a  want  of  the  real  earnest  desire  to  be  in 
all  things  set  right ;  a  kind  of  hollow  truce  which  is  kept 
up  with  conscience,  with  great  difficulty,  easily  dis- 
turbed, and  the  disturbance  painful ;  therefore,  "  do  not, 
do  not  come  to  provoke  the  enemy  within  !" 

Then,  again, there  is  pride,  reacting  against  a  fellow- 
mortal  and  fellow-sinner.  The  man  who  expresses 
corrective  truth,  seems,  for  the  time,  to  assume  a  cer- 
tain klRd  of  superiority.  Theadmonisher,  the  reprover, 
seems  to  assume  a  capacity  partaking  of  both  law- 
giver and  judge, — and  this  appearance  will  not  be  per- 
17 


190  RIGHT  METHOD  OF  GIVING 

fectly  qualified  away  by  any  disavowal  of  all  such  as- 
sumption ;  nor  even  by  the  man's  declaring  that  he  is 
sensible  he  is  at  the  same  time  censuring  also  himself, 
and  is  desirous  to  take  to  himself  the  admonition  he 
gives.  Still  the  sentiment  of  pride  is,  "  What  right 
has  a  fellow-sinner,  with  his  own  defects  to  be  correct- 
ed, thus  to  summon  and  arraign  me  before  him  as  hi 
judgment?" 

Here  how  obviously  is  the  consideration  suggested, 
of  the  importance  of  a  practical  se//-correction,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  admonish  and  correct  others  with  dignity 
and  effect. 

Another  thing  against  a  man's  amicable  reception 
in  the  character  of  a  corrective  instructor  is,  not  sel- 
dom, a  real  difference  of  judgnient  on  the  matters  in 
question.  When  the  "  friend "  ventures  to  express 
some  accusatory  ''  truth,"  as  he  deems  it,  the  answer 
may  be,  "  I  do  not  admit  it  to  be  truth,"  and,  of  course, 
it  is  possible  the  respondent  may  be  right.  But  if  he 
only  thinks  so,  he  is  inclined  to  take  double  offence. 
The  corrector  both  has  taken  upon  him  to  be  a  judge 
and  censurer,  and  has  judged  and  censured  wrong. 
The  spirit  of  defensive  hostility  rises  at  once  in  the 
accused,  and  both  are  prompted  to  rush  into  "  a  just 
and  necessary  war  P  In  this  case,  if  it  were  possible 
for  them  to  have  friendly  and  Christian  temper  enough 
to  argue  the  matter  calmly,  they  might  both  receive 
advantage.  The  one  or  the  other  might  be  convinced 
of  error,  and  ingenuously  acknowledge  it,  glad  to  be 
just  so  much  a  gainer.  Or  more  probably,  each  might 
eome  to  see  reason  to  admit  the  other's  representation 
in  part,  so  that  they  should  nearly  coincide.  The  per- 
son reprehended  might  acknowledge  the  truth  and  jus- 
tice to  a  certain  extent,  and  at  the  same  time  succeed 
in  showing  the  other  that  there  are  circumstances  and 
considerations  greatly  modifying  the  attributed  fault. 
Is  it  not  mortifying  to  think  how  seldom  such  amicable 
discussion  is  permitted  by  temper  and  pride  to  take 
place,  even  among  good  men ! 

We  note  only  one  thing  more  as  tending  tc  excite  in 


AND  RECEIVING  REPROOF.  191 

a  person  hearing  unpleasant  truth  a  feeling  as  toward 
an  '•enemy,'"  that  is,  an  unfavourable  opinion  or  sur- 
mise, as  to  the  motives  of  the  teller  of  this  truth.  If  it 
is  truth,  and  useful  truth,  the  motives  of  him  that  says 
it  should  make  no  material  difference.  Even  from 
an  enemy  real  instruction  has  an  undiminished  value. 
As  we  are  constituted,  this  consideration  does  make  a 
great  difference.  But  the  person  reprehended  should 
reflect,  how  strongly  the  nature  of  the  case  tempts  him 
to  think  unfavourably  of  the  motives.  Let  him  con- 
sider how  slowly  such  surmises  are  entertained  by  him 
when  he  receives  approbation  or  applause.  Such  com- 
placent expressions  may  have  been  repeatedly  receiv- 
ed from  the  person  who  now  for  once  ventures  to  utter 
blame.  Was  he  then  accounted  or  suspected  for  an 
"  enemy  ?"  But  is  all  the  assurance  and  evidence  of 
his  being  a  friend  to  be  annihilated  by  a  few  sentences 
in  a  different  kind  of  language? 

Here,  however,  it  is  to  be  acknowledged  that  truth 
may  sometimes  be  spoken  in  the  spirit  of  an  enemy, 
and  for  an  enemy's  purpose ;  far  from  any  intention  to 
do  good,  or  real  love  of  truth.  In  many  an  instance  it 
has  been  spoken  and  urged  home,fortheverypurposeof 
mortifying  and  tormenting.  Sometimes  it  has  been 
spoken  in  triumphant  revenge  for  admonitions  and  re- 
proofs formerly  received  ;  for  the  purpose  of  preclud- 
ing a  repetition  of  such  unwelcome  admonitions,  and 
silencing  the  monitory  voice.  It  has  been  uttered  in 
the  pure  delight  of  being  able  to  fix  the  reproach  of 
something  wrong  on  even  the  best  men.  It  has  been 
deliberatfly  considered  and  kept  back  in  readiness  to 
be  uttered  when  too  late  to  do  any  good.  It  has  even 
been  digested  and  reserved  in  the  mind  to  be  uttered 
with  infernal  exultation,  to  inflict  a  pang  on  a  person 
sinking  in  distress  or  in  death.  Let  no  speaker  of 
truth  then,  actuated  by  evil  motives,  content  or  acquit 
himself  by  being  able  to  say,  "  It  was  truth,  and  noth- 
ing but  truth,  that  I  expressed." 

But  setting  out  of  view  all  such  depravity  as  this. 


192  RIGHT  METHOD  OF  GIVING 

we  shall  do  well,  to  insist  on  a  circumstance  or  two  of 
propriety,  in  respect  to  the  telling  of  unpleasant  truth. 

For  one  thing,  it  is  self-evident  that  those  who  have 
to  do  this,  should  well  exercise  themselves  to  under- 
stand what  they  speak  of.  If  this  be  a  rule  of  propri- 
ety generally,  in  the  utterance  of  thoughts  and  judg- 
ments, it  is  especially  so  in  respect  to  those  which  are 
to  be  ejfpressed  as  reprehensions,  directly  applied  to 
persons  and  to  friends ;  where  some  pain  and  displeas- 
ure may  be  expected  to  be  caused,  and  opposition  pro- 
voked. On  such  occasions  how  needful  a  knowledge 
of  the  subject,  well-considered  opinion,  clear  represen- 
tation, pertinent  sound  argument. 

It  hardly  needs  be  said,  that  a  real  and  evident 
friendly  intention  is  of  great  avail.  It  may  be  added, 
that  there  should  not  be  the  same  stress  laid  on  every 
thing,  that  may  not  be  exactly  as  the  corrective  in- 
structor thinks  it  ought.  Indeed,  many  minor  things 
may  wisely  be  altogether  passed  over. 

In  presenting  admonitory  or  accusatory  truth,  it 
should  be  the  instructor's  aim  tliat  the  authority  may 
be  conveyed  in  the  truth  itself,  and  not  seem  to  be  as- 
sumed by  him,  as  the  speaker  of  it ;  that  he  may  be  the 
mere  conveyer  of  the  force  of  the  subject.  You  have 
seen  this  difference  exemplified  no  doubt.  One  man, 
a  discreet  and  modest  one,  shall  keep  himself  as  much 
as  he  can  out  of  the  pleading,  and  press  the  essential 
virtue  and  argument  of  the  subject.  Another  makes 
himself  prominent  in  it.  so  that  yielding  to  the  argument 
shall  seem  to  be  yielding  to  him.  His  style,  expressly 
or  in  effect,  is  this  :  "I  think  my  opinion  should  have 
some  weight  in  this  case."  "  These  arguments  are 
what  have  satisfied  ???e."  "  If  you  have  any  respect 
for  my  judgment,"  &c.  &c.  So  that  the  great  point 
with  him  is  not  so  much  that  you  should  be  co7ivinced, 
as  that  he  should  have  the  credit  of  convincing  you. 

Once  more, — the  teller  of  unpleasing  truths  should 
watch  to  select  favourable  times  and  occasions,  "  ?»o/- 
lia  tcmpora  fmidi  f~whenixn  inquisitive  or  docile 


AND  RECEIVING  REPROOF,  193 

disposition  is  most  apparent ; — when  some  circum- 
stance or  topic  naturally  leads,  without  formality  or 
abruptness  ; — when  there  appears  to  be  in  the  way  the 
least  to  put  the  person  reproved  in  the  attitude  of 
pride  and  hostile  self-defence. 

It  is  an  unhappy  fact,  that  even  among  friends,  the 
very  reverse  of  this  discreet  and  benevolent  policy 
very  generally  prevails.  Of  all  times,  it  is  just  in  thai 
when  something  has  made  them  angry, — when  the 
state  of  amicable  feeling  is  for  the  time  broken  up,  that 
they  speak  out  the  most  of  the  ungracious  truth  which 
they  have  thought  at  other  times.  They  have  thought 
of  it,  and  wished  to  say  it,  but  did  not  know  how  : 
they  have  waited  for  a  favourable  occasion,  but  it 
never  seemed  to  come;  the  subject  has  therefore  been 
brooded  over  in  silence,  and  perhaps  created  many  an 
unansicable  and  unaraiable  mood,  which  was  not  ex- 
plained. Till  at  length !  So  that "  the  truth,"  for  we 

v/ill  suppose  that  there  is  much  truth  uttered  in  this  ex- 
plosion, instead  of  doing  any  of  the  good  which  it  might 
in  a  certain  manner  of  communication,  records  itself,  as 
it  were,  in  deep  and  lasting  mischief  What  might,  by 
wisdom  and  benevolence,  have  been  made  to  fall  as  a 
salutary  shower,  is  gradually  collected  and  darkened 
till  it  bursts  forth  in  a  violent  and  destructive  tempesto 
One  great  mischief  of  ^/jws  •'  telling  the  truth  "  is,  that  it 
can  hardly  ever  afterwards  be  said  in  a  conciliating  and 
persuasive  manner.  That  subject  is  thenceforward  to 
be  avoided,  or  but  reserved  for  another  storm. 

How  much  it  is  to  be  wished  that  all  this  could  be 
mended  ;  among  friends  especially.  One  thinks  that 
among  them  it  should  be  pos-  ible  that  the  system  of 
social  communication  might  be  constituted  on  such 
high  principles,  that  it  should  be  understood  as  their 
mutual  wish  and  claim  to  have  the  advantage  of  one 
anoiher's  faithful  friendly  animadversions.  Or  that  at 
least,  more  particular  friends  might  expressly  recog- 
nize this  as  a  right  and  obligation.  Think,  if  this 
were  practicable,  what  a  benefit  it  might  be!  Con- 
sider, how  many  thoughts  there  are,  in  their  sepai-ate 
17* 


194  RIGHT  MODE   OF   GIVING   REPROOF. 

minds,  concerning  one  anotlier,  which  would  be  bene- 
ficially corrective,  if  they  could  come  by  some  intuition 
into  the  other's  mind  respectively.  How^  often  it  has 
occurred  to  you — '•  This  that  is  in  wy  thoughts  when 
I  think  oniiin — I  do  wish  it  could  be  in  his — for  I  am 
sure  it  would  have  some  good  etiect;  that  is  to  say,  if 
it  could  be  in  his  mind,  without  being  suggested  from 
mine  ;  but  as  so  suggested,  1  cannot  be  sure  it  would 
be  at  all  efficacious,"  The  fear  of  what  our  text  ex- 
presses, still  hangs  over  the  mind,  and  shuts  it  up  from 
the  desired  communication.  And  no  wonder,  when 
this  has  so  often  been  the  experience  of  the  most  genu- 
ine friends,  in  presenting  salutary  truth  ;  so  often  the 
experience  of  the  w^ortliiest  instructors,  parents,  minis- 
ters, philanthropists ;  of  prophets  and  apostles,  of 
Moses  and  Paul ;  nay,  of  our  divine  Lord,  and  JNIaster, 
and  Redeemer  himself! 

But  still,  let  not  the  sincere  friend  suffer  himself  al- 
together to  despond.  And  that  this  task  and  service 
o'i  telling  the  truth  may  not  be  in  vain,  and  worse,  we 
cannot,  in  conclusion,  too  strongly  insist  on  the  duly 
with  respect  to  hearing  it.  Men  should  be  aware,  that 
it  is  an  unfavourable  symptom  of  the  state  of  the  mind, 
when  there  is  an  excessive  and  irritable  delicacy  as  to 
hearing  things  which  are  the  contrary  of  flattery.  Is 
it  a  wise  self-love  that  would  thus  draw  a  protective 
and  inviolable  line  round  every  thing  that  is  ours  ; 
round  all  the  defects  and  faults  wc  may  have,  which 
are  our  closest  and  most  mischievous  enemies?  As 
if  a  garrison  should  make  a  point  of  most  sacredly  pro- 
tecting the  very  traitors  it  knows  or  suspects  it  has 
within,  because  they  belong  to  their  town  ! 

The  right  disposition  of  mind  is,  that  which  desires 
earnestly  '^  the  truth  !" — "  the  truth  1"  in  whatever 
manner  it  may  come  to  us.  Not  that  the  manner  of  its 
being  conveyed  is  quite  indifferent;  far  from  it;  but 
'•  the  truth,"  howsoever  it  come,  has  its  owv\  intrinsic 
eternal  value.  And  what  a  fool  I  am,  if  I  will  not 
take  it,  and  apply  it  to  its  use,  just  because  the  man- 
ner of  iis  coming  to  me  has  not  pleased  niel     Even 


NOAH  AND  THE  DFLUGE.  195 

from  an  avowed  enemy,  as  il  has  often  been  said,  we 
ouQ:ht  to  be  willing  to  learn  ;  but  surely  then,  w^hen  it 
is  from  a  friend,  a  Christian  friend  ! 

Recollect  the  disposition  of  the  psalmist:  "Let  the 
rigliteous  smite  me,  it  shall  be  a  kindness;  let  him  re- 
prove me,  it  shall  be  an  excellent  oil,  which  shall  not 
break  my  head."  Let  it  be  remembered,  that  there 
have  been  many  instances  in  which  a  friend,  silent 
when  he  shoulti  have  spoken,  has  himself  afterwards 
received  the  reproof,  in  serious  and  pathetic  terms,  for 
not  having  done  so,  from  the  person  whom  he  declined 
to  admonish. 

If  there  be  those  who  are  of  a  temperament  so  pain- 
fully and  irritably  susceptible,  that  they  really  can  no 
way  bring  themselves  to  be  w^illing  to  hear  corrective 
truth  from  others,  how  strong  is  the  obligation  that  they 
should  look  so  much  the  more  severely  to  themselves. 


XXL 

NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE. 

'■  By  faith  Noah,  being  VKirned  of  God  of  things  not 
seen  as  yet,  moved  with  fear,  prepared  an  ark  to  the 
saving  of  his  house  ;  by  which  he  condemned,  the  world, 
and,  became  heir  of  the  righteousness  which  is  byfaith.''^ 
— The  Apostle  was  to  inculcate  the  importance  and 
necessity  of  faith,  that  is,  the  assured  and  efficacious 
belief  of  things  on  the  divine  testimony,  these  things 
not  being  themselves  present,  in  their  own  evidence, 
either  to  the  senses  or  to  reason. 

Things  unseen  ;  some  of  them  unseen  because  they 
are  of  a  spiritual  nature ;  some,  because  far  otiin  past 
time  :  some,  because  yet  in  futurity.  So  wide  a  sphere 
must  that  faith  extend  to,  which  is  yet  absolutely  es- 
sential to  relisrion.     These  things. — of  so  srand  a  com- 


196  NOAH  AND  THE  DELUOE. 

pass  and  variety. — are  1o  be  firmly  believed,  in  the 
simple  intellectual  sense  ; — and  more  than  so.  tliey 
mn.st  be  "believed  with  the  heart;"  so  believed  that 
they  shall  have  their  due  and  commanding  influence 
on  the  active  powers  of  the  soul.  This  is  the  required 
faith  ;  this,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  tlie  end, 
is  e.ssential  to  the  character  of  the  children  of  God  ;  a 
most  noble,  a  sublime  power  in  the  human  soul, — if  it 
can  exist  there. 

But  if  there  were  not  examples,  it  would  seem  diffi- 
cult to  conceive  that  such  a  power  can  be  there,  con- 
sidering how  the  soul  is  enclosed  in  matter,  within  the 
bodily  senses,  and  thickly  and  closely  surrounded  by 
material  objects  ;  continually  occupied  and  aflected  by 
present  object.^  and  interests;  pressed  upon  bj'  a  thou- 
sand matters  oC  present  good  and  evil ;  and  in  addition, 
a  fatal  contentment  for  it  to  be  so  ;  a  perverse,  a  de- 
plorable indisposition  to  go  out  from  and  beyond  this 
enclosing  sphere  of  present  objects,  to  converse  with 
God,  and  an  unseen  world;  and  to  go  forward  in 
solemn  thought  into  hereafter.  All  this  considered, — 
it  would  seem  as  if  such  a  faith  as  that  required  were 
something  quite  beyond  the  capacity  of  our  nature,  and 
so  it  is  utterly,  except  by  a  divine  change  wrought 
upon  that  nature.  Great  indeed  would  the  difficulty 
of  such  a  thing  appear.  It  was  well  therefore  for  the 
apostle  to  bring  in  view  a  splendid  assemblage  of  ex- 
amples of  this  fiiith  ;  real  instances,  in  which  faith  has 
been  embodied  as  a  living  spectacle  ;  showing  its  pos- 
sibility, its  power,  its  manner  of  operation,  ifs  worthi- 
ness, and  its  great  reward.  This  assemblage  con- 
tains, with  some  exceptions  of  inferior  character,  the 
prime  of  the  ancient  world. — Comparison  between 
them  and  the  heroes  and  demigods  of  mythology  ;  the 
heroes,  the  sa<i:es.  and  the  men  celebrated  for  virtue, 
in  the  ancient  heathen  history. — 

Very  early  in  the  series  appears  the  patriarch  Noah, 
the  second  grand  progenitor  of  the  human  race,  a  pre- 
eminently conspicuous  object, — inasmuch  as  the  whole 
human  world  is  seen  reduced  and  contracted  down  to 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE.  197 

him  and  his  small  family;  a  very  narrow  isthmus  be- 
tween a  world  of  men  before,  and  a  world  after.  If 
but  there  a  fatal  breach  had  been  made  ! — If  the  dart 
of  death  had  fallen  on  that  one  family,  in  the  only  in- 
habited tenement  in  the  world  !  The  frailty  of  mortal- 
ity, and  its  surrounding  dangers,  were  there  I — A  fire 
might  have  kindled  there ;  lightning  mighthave  struck ; 
a  malignant  fever  might  have  seized  that  little  house- 
hold ;  one  of  the  formidable  beasts  there  might  have 
broken  loose,  and  the  supernatural  restraint  and 
spell  on  its  fierce  temperament  might  have  been  for  a 
moment  suspended  1  There,  and  thus  liable,  but  for 
special  divine  intervention,  was  all  that  existed  of  man 
on  the  earth !  but  for  ichich  intervention,  the  vast 
scheme  of  Providence  for  the  subsequent  ages  had 
been  set  aside  ;  the  appointment  of  a  Redeemer  had 
been  frustrated !  There,  as  in  a  cradle  surrounded 
with  perils,  was  the  infancy  of  the  imme'ftse  population 
that  has  spread  over  the  world. 

In  this  great  crisis  man  was  preserved.  Our  com- 
placency in  contemplating  this  great  preservation 
would  have  been  much  greater,  if  man,  in  the  transi- 
tion, had  left  his  depravity  behind,  with  the  ancient 
and  extinguished  race.  But  that  was  a  radical  quality 
— it  faithfully  and  fatally  inhered  and  accompanied! 
Millions  of  deaths,  and  deaths  expressly  and  specially 
on  its  account,  could  not  cause  it  to  die.  It  lurked  in 
the  ark  itself,  infinitely  the  most  fell  and  direful  ser- 
pent that  was  there.  Yet  the  wickedness  of  man  ap- 
pears to  have  been  more  universal  and  unmingled  in 
the  times  before  the  flood.  It  seems  an  exclusive  ex- 
pression when  the  Lord  said  to  Noah,  "  Thee  have  I 
seen  righteous  before  me  in  this  generation."  A  nearly 
solitary  individual  of  determined  piety  and  holiness  in 
such  a  generation,  would  be  in  circumstances  to  need 
habitual  direct  communications  from  heaven. 

Among  these  communications  was  one  which  could 
not  reasonably  surprise  the  patriot, — though  it  would 
make  a  most  awful  impression.  He  was  '•  warned  of 
God !"     The  time  of  the  catastrophe  was  signified  to 


198 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE 


him — one  hundred  and  twenty  years  beforehand. 
This  however  would  seem  to  place  the  event  far  off, 
according  to  men's  calculations  of  time.  There  was 
now  the  trial  of  the  patriarch's  fiiith.  Would  the  Al- 
mighty really  make  a  vast  blank  in  his  creation  ?  Was 
the  declaration  meant  for  more  than  a  mere  general 
expression  of  his  wrath,  a  menace  to  alarm  and  intimi- 
date ?  No  event  the  most  remotely  like  this,  had  ever 
yet  been  known  in  the  world.  How,  by  any  possibil- 
ity, was  it  to  take  place  ?  As  to  constructing  an  enor- 
mous vessel,  to  save  himself  and  all  the  terrestrial  ani- 
mals, by  what  means  was  he  to  etfect  any  such  unpar- 
alleled work?— A  vessel  of  burden  equal  to  nearly 
twenty  ships  of  the  line. — While  attempting  it,  would 
not  he  be  assailed  by  the  universal  scorn,  and  at  length 
by  the  destructive  violence,  of  the  wicked  multitude? 
How  were  al^the  various  animals  to  be  brought  to  the 
receptacle,  and  kept  in  order  there?  And  even  sup- 
posing all  this  were  done,  what  safety  still  could  there 
be  amidst  such  a  dreadful  commotion  and  confusion 
of  the  elements?  in  such  a  breaking  up  of  the  whole 
order  of  nature  ?  Then,  is  not  this  apparent  revelation 
from  God  a  visionary  fancy,  a  gloomy  delusion? 

So  might  he  have  mused  and  queslioneci  with  him- 
self And  certninly  a  case  so  strange  and  astonishing 
did  require  that  he'should  make  sure  he  had  the  clear- 
est evidence  of  a  divine  communication.  He  did 
make  sure  of  this.  It  was  evident  to  him  that  it  was 
God  that  had  spoken  to  him.  and  he  believed  the  decla- 
ration. The  proper  consequence  followed ;  he  was 
"moved  with  fear."  and  he  set  about  the  work  that 
was  commanded  him.  Believino-.  simply  believing,  is 
the  basis  of  vital  fiiih  ;  but  if  this  be  all,  it  comes  to 
nothing.  It  avails  and  suffices  no  more  than  if  Noah 
had  contented  himself  with  drawing  a  plan,  or  shap- 
ing a  model  of  the  prescribed  ark,  and  perhaps  mark- 
ing the  trees  that  would  serve  for  the  timber.  To 
each  belief,  relative  to  important  concerns,  there  is 
some  appropriate  affection  or  passion  ;  and  the  belief 
must  bring  that  into  exercise.    Noah's  belief  excited 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE. 


199 


his  "  fear."  And,  in  concerns  involving  practice, 
there  is  an  action  appropriate  to  each  belief  and  cor- 
responding emotion — he  "  prepared  an  ark."  With 
this  mechanical  employment,  we  are  told  he  combined 
the  "  preaching  of  righteousness"  to  that  wicked^and 
abandoned  generation. 

"  While  the  ark  was  preparing."  And  this  mere 
glimpse  of  information  is  all  that  is  given  us,  of  more 
than  a  century  preceding  the  most  memorable  event, 
except  one,  of  all  time  ;  an  interval  too,  during  which, 
doubtless,  everything  was  inuncleviating,  unsuspend- 
ed  progress  toward  the  catastrophe.  It  will  often  oc- 
cur to  us,  in  reading  of  the  great  events  in  the  sacred 
history, — how  little  the  divine  wisdom  judged  it  neces- 
sary for  us  to  know  of  things  w^iich  it  would  have 
been  inexpressibly  interesting  to  know.  For  instance. 
— in  what  manner  Noah's  announcement  of  the  divine 
prediction  was  received ;  in  wiiat  measure  and  man- 
ner he  was  assisted  in  his  mighty  labour  by  the  peo- 
ple,— and  with  what  feeling,  on  their  part.  Think  of 
the  persons  employed  asking  and  receiving  from  him 
precise  directions,  about  one  part  and  another,  with 
explanations  respecting  the  purpose  of  it — and  all  this 
in  the  mere  temper  of  workmen  !  Whether  the  ark, 
in  its  construction,  was  regarded  with  absolute  indif- 
ference, except  as  an  object  of  scorn,  or  whether  it  did 
strike  any  of  them  as  an  ominous  spectacle.  To  the 
generality  no  doubt  it  afforded  endless  amusement  in 
their  conversations.  Whether  there  were  not  designs 
formed  and  attempted  to  destroy  it,  and  if  so, — wheth- 
er they  were  frustrated  by  sadden  strokes  of  divine 
vengeance. — A  fire  from  heaven  on  some  profane  and 
daring  incendiary. — What  might  be  the  strain  of 
Noah's  addresses  to  the  people  ;  whether,  in  rebuking 
their  wickedness,  he  was  authorized  to  enlarge  on 
offers  and  promises  of  mercy  to  repentance  ;  whether 
the  denunciations  of  the  Almighty  were  by  any  means 
made  known  to  the  entire  population  of  the  earth ; 
whether  his  admonitions  ceased,  or  changed  their  lan- 
guage, when  the  ark  was  coming  very  near  its  com- 


200 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE. 


pletion.  Onr  imagination  will  represent  his  mingled 
and  profound  en)otions  at  seeing  thus  combined  in  the 
same  fact  the  assurance  of  his  safety  and  of  their  de- 
struct.on  ; — his  feelings  in  placing  the  last  timbers  on 
the  structure,  and  in  being  perhaps  assisted  to  do  it  by 
some  of  these  doomed  hands ;  and  looking  down  from 
the  elevation  on  numbers  gazing  with  idle  curiosity  and 
impious  mockery,  anticipating  witii  what  other  feelings 
and  language,  ere  long,  surrounding  multitudes  would 
look  at  this  structure,  closed  and  inaccessible  ! 

In  looking  abroad  over  the  region,  while  the  last 
beams  and  planks  were  in  adjusting,  he  would  feel 
that,  in  effect,  he  was  preparing  the  whole  earth  for 
one  grave  of  all  its  inhabiiants  ; — that  heaven  w^as  ar- 
raying him  as  to  be  the  mournful  high  priest  at  a  stu- 
pendous sacrifice,  in  which  all  that  had  the  breath  of 
life  was  to  be  offered — at  once ; — that  the  time  was  at 
hand  when,  at  every  breathing  of  his  own,  he  should 
be  sensible  that  countless  numbers  were  in  the  agony 
of  suflibcation; — and  that  yet  a  little  while,  and  he 
would  find  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  silent  and  solitary 
world ! 

But,  all  this  while,  perhaps  nothing  unusual  was 
taking  place, — there  were  no  portentous  signs,  or  ex- 
traordinary movements.  When  all  was  completed, 
in  the  structure  and  the  stores,  there  might  be  a  short 
interval  of  inconceivable  suspense  and  expectation. 
Imagine  the  emotion  at  the  first  decisive  indication  ! 
Suppose  this  to  be,  the  voluntary  approach  and  en- 
trance into  the  ark  of  a  pair  of  animals,  of  a  species 
timidly  averse,  or  destructively  hostile  to  man, — com- 
ing without  the  least  appearance  of  fear  or  ferocity. 
The  shock  of  an  earthquake  would  not  have  produced 
a  more  powerful  sensation  than  such  a  first  circum- 
stance. Infallible  sign  that  the  decree  of  heaven  had 
not  been  revoked,  and  was  on  the  very  point  of  being 
executed ! — This  would  be  followed  rapidly,  no 
doubt,  by  the  various  animals  crowding  to  the  grand 
receptacle,  moved  to  do  so  by  a  supernatural  impulse. 
"  They  shall  come  to  thee  into  the  ark."     This  must 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE.  201 

have  been,  to  the  most  hardened  unbelievers  and  scof- 
I'er.-s,  a  portentous  sight. 

But  still,  all  the  land  continued  dry  as  usual.  When 
and  whence  was  the  water  to  come?  This  would  be 
a  matter  of  most  fearful  inquisitiveness  and  expecta- 
tion to  the  inhabitants  of  the  ark.  The  intensity  of 
this  inquiring  expectation  would  prepare  them  to  be- 
hold, at  length,  with  an  awful  emotion,  the  heavens 
blackening  over  the  world,  and  a  rain, — preternatural, 
perhaps,  in  its  quantity, — and  evidently  so,  after 
a  while,  by  its  unremitting  continuance. 

Then  was  the  time  tor  all  mankind  to  be  "  moved 
with  fear," — but  for  Noah  to  fear  no '  longer.  Fear, 
entertained  effectually  at  the  earlier  season,  prevents 
it  at  the  later.  The  salutary  fear  of  God,  of  his  dis- 
pleasure, of  his  future  judgment,  seriously  admitted, 
and  acted  upon,  at  his  first  "  warnings," — and  espe- 
cially in  early  life, — what  is  its  consequence,  at  later 
seasons,  when  calamities  come,  when  the  end  of  life 
approaches  ?  On  the  contrary,  what  is  the  conse- 
quence at  last  of  the  early  and  persevering  rejection 
of  that  fear,  in  thoughtlessness  or  scorn?  How  many 
examples  are  there  at  all  times,  that  are  analogous  to 
those  of  Noah  and  the  impious  multitude,  especially 
analogous  to  the  latter  ! 

"  The  waters  prevailed  upon  the  earth  ;"  overwhelm- 
ed all  the  lower  tracts — with  all  the  inhabitants  that 
could  not  escape  thence,  and  gradually  rose  upon  the 
eminences.  But  as  to  the  question,  in  what  manner 
this  w^as  accomplished,  we  are  lost  in  the  profoundest 
mystery.  "  Whence  could  this  stupendous  accession 
of  water  come,  and  whither  return?"  is  a  question 
which  philosophy  has  in  vain  tried  to  at  .swer : — to  an- 
swer, that  is  to  say,  by  any  thing  more  than  mere  con- 
jectural speculation.  The  only  probable  conjecture 
seems  to  be,  that  "  the  great  deep"  spoken  of,  the 
fountains  of  which  were  "  broken  up,"  is  to  be  under- 
stood as  a  vast  reservoir  within  the  globe, — and  that 
this  water  was  made  to  gush  out,  in  mighty  eruptions, 
through  the  surface,  either  by  an  immediate  efficacy 
18 


202  NOAII  AND  THE  DELUGE. 

of  the  divine  will,  or,  much  more  probably,  by  the  ef- 
fect of  some  law  of  nature  extraordinarily  applied  by 
Him.  This  seems  the  only  conjecture  that  affords 
any  rational,  or  even  conceivable  notion,  of  whence 
such  an  enormous  mass  of  water  could  come,  and 
whither  retire. 

Any  actual  proof  on  the  Eubject  must  be  utterly  be- 
yond the  reach  of  science ;  and  He  that  knows  the 
whole  cause  and  process  has  not  chosen  to  inform  us. 
But  at  the  same  time,  besides  universal  tradition, — 
there  is  demonstrative  proof  of  the  fact  of  such  a  del- 
uge, confirmatory  of  the  sacred  history.  This  evi- 
dence is  becoming  more  palpable  every  year,  through 
the  researches  and  inferences  of  science.  There  are 
found  throughout  Europe,  in  Asia  and  America,  and 
in  all  parts  of  the  world  where  the  contents  of  the 
earth  have  been  explored,  both  in  lower  grounds  and 
far  up  toward  the  highest,  innumerable  animal  re- 
mains, bones,  whole  skeletons,  &c.,  in  such  circum- 
stances as  to  prove,  most  evidently,  that  they  were  de- 
posited and  covered  there  by  an  overwhelming  flood 
— with  a  striking  similarity  to  show  that  it  must  have 
been  the  same  flood,  and  circumstances  indicating 
there  had  been  but  one  such  flood.  We  are  to  set 
out  of  view  here  those  animal  remains  that  are  found 
far  in  the  solid  depths  of  the  earth,  in  the  state  of 
stones,  or  in  the  substance  of  rocks.  These  our  Chris- 
tian naturalists  are  now  feeling  themselves  compelled 
to  refer  to  some  far  more  ancient  period,  probably 
long  ages  before  the  globe  was  made  the  habitation  of 
man. 

But  return  to  Noah — and  think  how  solemn  a  mo- 
ment that  would  be,  when  the  ark  was  perceived  to 
have  left  the  ground !  the  decided  rending  of  his  tie 
with  the  w^orld,  with  all  humanity,  with  the  old  accus- 
tomed economy  under  which  he  had  lived  more  than 
half  a  thousand  years  !  The  world,  and  all  that  was 
on  its  ample  surface,  was  gone — for  him  ;  the  dwell- 
ings, the  plantations,  the  people,  he  would  see  no 
more !     He  was  committed  wholly  to  a  Sovereign 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE. 


203 


Providence.  Ideas  of  various,  altogether  new,  and 
almost  infinite  hazards,  would  occur  to  his  mind.  But 
it  was  enough  that  he  had  obeyed  the  Almighty,  and 
was  sure  of  his  care.  And, — if  we  may  be  allowed 
such  an  expression — there  was  a  concentration  of  the 
cares  of  Providence  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  ark, 
since  all  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  earth  were  sur- 
rendered to  destruction.  There  converged  thither,  at 
that  crisis,  the  providential  care  which  was  again  to 
expand  with  the  extension  of  the  human  and  other 
races  over  the  now  desolated  earth. 

But  think  of  the  awful  scene  from  which  Noah  was 
thus  borne  aloft!  For  a  while,  ai  the  beginning,  he 
would  hear  the  sound  of  it;  the  cries  of  terror  and 
despair  from  the  multitude;  his  own  name  loudly  called 
upon  by  voices  imploring  to  be  admitted.  How  ardently 
desirous  then  to  share  the  lot  of  the  man  whom  they  Nf 
had  scorned,  and  whose  God  they  had  defied  ! — But 
the  door  was  not  his  to  open ;  God  had  closed  it. 
"  God  shut  him  in."  On  some  tracts  of  the  earth  it  is 
probable  that  the  destruction  was  comparatively  sud- 
den. For  on  the  supposition  of  the  impetuous  break- 
ing  forth,  through  wide  openings,  from  an  abyss  below, 
there  would  be  most  tremendous  torrents  which  would 
drive  and  sweep  with  inconceivable  violence.  It  has 
recently  been  shown  and  illustrated,  in  a  most  striking 
manner,  that  there  were  such  torrents, — streams  of 
such  amazing  force  as  to  tear  mountain  ridges  asunder, 
and  drive  rocks  a  vast  distance  along  with  them.  All 
would  soon  be  over,  as  to  living  existence,  in  the  tracts 
within  the  immediate  power  of  such  tremendous  erup- 
tions and  torrents.  But  many  of  the  great  elevations 
would  remain  many  weeks,  and  some  of  them  even 
months,  high  above  the  flood,  and  so  would  aflTord 
ground  to  multitudes  of  the  doomed  and  despairing 
people  who  could  escape  thither.  But  think  of  them  ! 
seeing,  day  after  day,  the  dire  enemy  still  rising, — still 
approaching, — and  the  while,  many  of  them  perishing 
with  famine  !  And  it  were  not  in  the  least  an  improb- 
able imaginatipn,  that  in  many  instances  there  might 

',  "     /  *  J       ^      jf-  %•* 


204  NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE. 

break  out  ainongr  tlicm  a  deadly  and  internal  frenzy, 
in  wliioh  they  set  upon  and  destroyed  one  another, — 
and  the  survivors  devoured  the  dead.  There  is  not 
the  least  extravagance  in  it;  it  is  true  to  the  nature  of 
man, — social  man,  when  wicked  and  reduced  to  extre- 
mity. Recently  there  has  been  published  an  account 
from  Para  of  a  horrible  example.  The  antediluvian 
world  had  been  "filled  with  violence,"  we  are  told;  and 
there  was  nothing  to  extinguish  that  spirit  on  the  last 
summits  on  which  men  continued  alive.  We  may  well 
believe,  that  depravity  so  extreme  as  to  bring  an  uni- 
versal destruction  from  the  righteous  Governor,  would 
continue  depravity  to  the  last;  and  that  the  final  spark 
of  life  might  go  out  in  fury! 

At  length  there  was  the  entire  surface  of  the  solid 
globe  without  sin! — But  to  think  that  it  could  not  be 
so  but  by  being  icithout  ineji !  When  all  was  accom- 
plished, the  sovereign  dictate  repressed  the  flood,  and 
gradually  sent  its  tunuiltuous  waters  to  the  dark  hiding 
place  from  which  he  had  called  them.  The  ark.  in  a 
place  probably  far  otf  from  where  it  had  been  built, 
touched  the  ground  once  more,  and  Noah  and  his 
family  had  to  reflect  what  had  been  done  since  it  had 
last  touched  the  ground  ! — After  a  confinement  of  a 
complete  year,  he  was  summoned  to  come  forth,  with 
all  the  beings  of  which  he  had  been  made  the  guard- 
ian so  long.  When  he  was  delivered  Irom  the  inces- 
sant complicated  cares  and  toils  of  this  great  charge, 
his  thoughts  would  be  more  free  to  expatiate  in  solemn 
meditation. 

Where  was  all  he  had  been  accustomed  to  behold, 
for  six  hundred  years,  and  that  was  around  him  the 
last  year  at  this  time  ?  The  numbers  of  men — the 
towns — the  camps — the  arts,  the  works,  the  revels,  the 
crimes,  the  very  face  of  nature  itself? — All  swept  from 
the  creation!  A  deserted,  desolate  planet  that  had 
been  populous  in  God's  creation !  Nothing  short  of 
having  gone  to  another  world  could  be  so  strange. 

For  SIN  this  mighty  destruction  had  passed  over  the 
world !     How  he  would  deprecate  the  return  of  this 


NOAH  AND  THE  DELUGE.  205 

dreadful  cause  with  the  renewed  population,  on  the 
new  face  of  the  earth !  "  As  man  has  expired,  oh  that 
sin  also  might  be  dead  !" 

What  an  awful  sentiment  he  would  feel  toward  the 
righteous  Governor, — at  such  a  demonstration  that  He 
will  be  righteous,  at  whatever  cost  to  any  rebellious 
and  unholy  part  of  his  creation, — that  there  shall  be 
holiness,  or  there  must  be  vengeance !  Noah  might 
feel  a  grateful  wonder  why  he,  with  his  family  should 
have  been  the  one  to  be  divinely  preserved  from  the 
wickedness  of  mankind,  in  order  to  be  saved  llom  their 
destruction,  and  to  be  made  the  origin  of  a  new  race. 
Would  he  assume  it  as  a  ground  of  pride? — He  did 
well  to  begin  by  "  building  an  altar  to  the  Lord,"  and 
offering  devout  sacrifices.  But  the  ark — would  not 
that  be  to  him,  as  long  as  it  remained  undecayed,  a 
favourite  and  peculiarly  solemn  temple  in  which  to 
adore  the  Almighty?  It  had  been  built  in  holy  "fear ;" 
it  had  been  built  in  "faith;"  it  had  answered  to  his 
faith  ;  had  fulfilled  the  promise  ;  had  been  the  effectual 
medium  of  his  temporal  salvation.  Every  sight  of  it 
would  renew  the  admonition  and  conviction  that  God 
is  true, — both  in  his  threatenings  and  his  promises. 
Since  his  was  not  a  faith  of  merely  temporal  reference, 
but  extended  to  the  concern  of  an  infinitely  greater 
salvation,  the  ark  would  be  a  most  striking  emblem  to 
him  of  that  grand  and  sole  appointed  expedient  for 
the  exemption  of  the  soul  from  a  more  awful  destruc- 
tion— the  "  manifestation  of  the  Son  of  God  in  the 
flesh." 

To  this  sovereign  refuge  was  he  also  "  moved  by 
fear  ;"  fear  of  a  danger  transcendently  more  dreadful 
than  any  that  could  fall  from  the  tempestuous  skies,  or 
ascend  from  "  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep."  Our 
only  effectual  faith  is  that  in  which,  "  moved  by  fear," 
we  hasten  to  him  that  is  all-sufficient  to  save,  with  all 
the  solemn  earnestness  with  which  the  patriarch  ap- 
plied himself  to  prepare  the  ark. 
18* 


XXII. 

DESTRUCTION  OF  SODOM  AND  GOMORRAH. 

"  The  Lord  appeared  to  Abraham  in  the  plains  of 
Mawre  ;  and  he  sat  in  the  tent  door  in  the  heat  of  the 
day." — The  nineteenth  chapter  of  Genesis  contains  the 
narrative  of  the  destruction  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
and  other  cities  of  the  vale  of  Siddim.  We  have  made 
some  reflections  on  the  beaufy  spread  over  the  earth, 
especially  in  the  season  of  vSpring — and  the  sad  con- 
trast between  the  beauty  of  nature,  and  the  moral 
quality  mingled  through  the  scene.  There  is  no  need 
of  ancient  and  foreign  illustrations;  but  a  very  strik- 
ing one  is  that  vale  of  Siddim.  Lot  had  beheld  it  "  as 
the  garden  of  the  Lord,"  and  was  so  captivated,  that 
he  chose  it  for  his  sojourn,  even  with  the  certainty  that 
"  his  righteous  soul  "  must  be  "  vexed." 

Think  of  a  region  blooming  and  smiling  in  all  the 
riches  of  nature  ; — on  every  hand  something  to  raise 
the  contemplative  thought  to  the  glorious  Creator; — 
something,  it  might  be  supposed,  to  refine  and  har- 
monize the  sentiments; — and  a  copious  fertility  of  sup- 
ply, to  make  every  tract  speak  the  bounty  of  provi- 
dence. 

But  amidst  all  this,  what  was  man  ?  A  hideous  as- 
semblage of  beings,  "sensual — devilish," — such  as 
might  almost  be  conceived  to  have  been  thrown  up 
from  the  infernal  realms,  to  go  dowm  again  in  an  earth- 
quake and  tempest  of  fire!  The  wickedness  was  so 
aggravated  and  extreme,  that  the  region  itself  was 
doomed  to  perish  with  the  inhabitants.  As  if  divine 
justice  could  not  permit  to  remain  under  the  face  of 
heaven,  the  very  ground  which  had  been  polluted  by 
such  a  race !  Beautiful  scenery  remained,  spread 
over  the  world  ;  but  one  portion  was  sunk  and  vanish- 
ed for  ever.     The  natural  beauty,  and  the  human 


DESTRUCTION  OF  SODOM  AND   GOMORRAH.     207 

wickedness  were  both  struck  out  of  the  world  at  one 
trenriendous  blow.  At  that  one  spot  it  is  nearly  four 
thousand  years  since  nature  bloomed  and  man  sinned, 
— for  the  last  time  ! 

So  terrible  a  judgment  and  warning,  however,  has 
not  prevented  sin  from  infecting  ever  since  the  fair 
field  of  nature;  and  it  is  this  which  spoils  the  beauty 
of  the  scene.  This  thing  that  spoils  it  so,  is  incompara- 
bly stronger  and  more  intense  in  its  quality  of  deform- 
ity, than  the  other  in  its  quality  of  beauty.  That 
there  is  a  luxuriant  verdure, — that  there  are  flowers — 
rich  fields — fruitful  trees — pleasing  sounds,  and  tastes, 
and  odours — streams — soft  gales — picturesque  land- 
scapes— what  is  all  this  as  set  against  the  other  fact, 
that  there  are — in  almost  infinite  mass,  and  number, 
and  variety — bad  dispositions  and  passions — bad  prin- 
ciples —  wicked  thoughts  — vile  language  — impieties 
and  crimes  of  all  possible  kinds?  We  are  not  forget- 
ting that  there  are  also  better  things  than  these  in  the 
moral  world;  but  oC these  there  is  enough  to  form  an 
overwhelming  contrast  to  all  that  which  could  make 
the  world  look  "  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord."  So  that 
on  the  supposition,  if  we  might  be  allowed  such  an  idea, 
that  all  the  sin  could  become  a  visible  thing,  a  thing 
palpable  to  the  senses,  in  forms  and  characteristics 
duly  representing  its  odious  and  dreadful  quality,  it 
would  blast  and  overpower  in  our  view  all  the  beauty 
of  nature. 

It  may  be  that  "  the  angels  of  the  Lord,"  so  much 
spoken  of  in  this  early  part  of  the  Bible,  and  through- 
out it,  may  have  such  a  power  and  mode  of  apprehen  - 
sion,  as  to  behold  sin  in  as  palpable  a  manifestation, 
here  on  earth,  as  the  face  and  forms  of  the  materi- 
al world  itself;  except  perhaps  sin  as  latent  within 
the  soul.  But  they  would  hardly  need  the  exquisite 
intuition,  and  the  capacity  of  angehc  faculty,  to  appre- 
hend the  character  of  a  scene  Hke  that  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah.  Wicked  as  all  the  nations  of  those  lands 
were,  the  people  of  this  one  tract  appear  to  have  sur- 
passed the  rest  in  atrocity.     "  The  Lord  said,  the  cry 


208  DESTRUCTION  OF 

of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  is  great,  and  their  sin  is  very 
grievou,^."  The  insults  to  heaven  had  come  up  with 
a  strength,  and  loudness,  and  outrage,  greater  than 
from  other  parts  of  the  earth.  It  was  time  for  the 
righteous  Governor  to  manifest  himself 

As  the  first  circumstance,  three  persons  came  as  on 
a  friendly  visit  to  Abraham.  Both  at  this  point  of  the 
relation,  and  afterwards,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck 
with  the  calmness  and  quietness  of  the  proceeding. 
There  were  no  terrible  portents — no  magnificent 
phenomena — no  thundering  menaces — nor  formida- 
ble preparations — nor  effulgence  of  Divine  Majesty. 
The  patriarch's  hospitality  was  accepted.  The  first 
thing  unusual  was  a  matter  of  complacent  interest, — a 
renewed  assurance  of  posterity  to  Abraham.  But 
think  what  this  friendly  converse  was  the  introduction 
to! 

It  was  not  for  heavenly  beings  to  stay  long  in  direct 
intercourse  with  mortals — besides,  there  was  some- 
thing else  to  be  done  !  "  The  men  rose  up  from  thence 
and  looked  toward  Sodom,"  Genesis  xviii.  16,  that  is, 
set  out  that  way,  Abraham  accompanying  them  some 
distance  from  liis  tent.  By  this  time  it  was  signified 
to  him,  that  there  was  an  awful  and  immediate  design 
against  those  cities ;  and  this  led  to  that  memorable 
intercessory  conversation  in  which  the  patriarch  plead- 
ed for  Sodom.  It  was  not  solely  on  Lot's  account,  for 
he  might  have  pleaded  for  his  exemption. 

We  are  left  in  the  dark  as  to  one  circumstance.  Only 
two  of  the  persons  went  on  to  Sodom,  leaving  Abra- 
ham to  converse  with  the  Almighty.  The  third  dis- 
appears from  our  view;  unless  he  was  a  manifestation 
of  the  divine  Being  himself,  and  the  same  that  Abra- 
ham conversed  with  in  that  solemn  character.  This 
is  left  entirely  in  uncertainty.  But  evidently  it  was 
with  God  himself  that  Abraham  held  the  conversation. 
That  conversation  may  suggest  some  points  of  instruc- 
tion. For  example;  we  ought  not  to  be  gratified  with 
the  sufferings  and  punishments  of  the  wicked.  There 
is  sometimes  a  temptation  to  this ;  especially  when  the 


SODOM  AND  GOMORRAH.  209 

wicked  are  seen  in  great  pride,  and  wealth,  and  power 
— arrogating  all  things  to  themselves. — riotincr  in  the 
spoils  of"  their  fellow  mortals. — tramplincr  with  scorn 
on  the  weak  or  the  jnst; — and  at  the  sanie  time  diffus- 
ing moral  corruption  Avidely  around.  We  are  tempt- 
ed to  look  forward  with  somcthino"  like  complacency  to 
the  awaiting  vengeance.  Bin  this  is  not  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  nor  the  spirit  of  Abraham.  The  very  best 
men  will  exceed  all  others  in  benevolent  concern  for 
the  worst. 

Abraham  ventured  an  appeal  to  the  divine  equity. 
"  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right !"  Ob- 
serve, it  is  impossible  to  contemplate  the  divine  attri- 
butes without  forming  some  idea  of  what  it  is  that  is 
right  for  such  a  Being.  We  must  nece?sarily  form 
our  conceptions  of  what  is  justice  and  goodness  in  the 
Supreme  Being,  upon  the  principles  which  he  has  de- 
clared to  us,  as  the  essence  of  those  qualities  in  his 
creatures.  So  that  our  judgments  of  his  proceedings 
will  be  in  analogy  to  those  we  form  of  the  actions  of 
men.  But  in  doing  this,  there  is  need  of  great  caution 
and  reverential  humility,  for  the  plain  reason,  that  his 
proceedings  have  reference  to  an  immense  scale ; 
they  are  to  be  "  right"  as  in  an  infinitely  extended  and 
multiplied  relation  of  things  ;  in  the  midst  of  which 
our  intellect  can  compass  but  an  inexpressibly  diminu- 
tive point.  How  limited,  then,  our  power  of  judging 
of  his  justice  in  action  !  Then  if  we  think  of  the  divine 
justice,  as  an  attribute  to  be  appealed  to  in  behalf  of 
man,  that  is  a  formidable  idea  !  Abraham  did  it,  and 
was  not  rebuked  ;  but  how  many  times  must  any  man, 
speaking  to  the  Most  High,  appeal  to  his  wercy^  for 
once  that  he  can  appeal  to  his  justice  !  In  his  praying 
for  himself,  the  case  is  so ;  and  if  interceding  (or  the 
community,  the  nation,  how  little  dare  he  rest  his  plea 
on  the  numbers  and  virtues  of  good  men  ! 

Observe  the  divine  indulgence  to  the  narrow,  weak 
apprehensions  of  good  men.  Abraham  beiran  his  in- 
tercession as  if  he  had  been  bespeaking  the  benevo- 
lence of  only  some  exalted  human  being,  with  a  kind 


210  DESTRUCTION  OF 

of  pious  artifice,  namely,  wiih  a  greater  number  when 
he  knew  he  must  descend  to  a  less  ;  and  intending  it 
as  a  device  to  smooth  the  way.  and  ])revent  a  sudden, 
decided,  indignant  negative.  God  has  to  pardon  in 
his  servants  a  great  deal  of  such  leeling  as  attributes 
human  qualities  and  dispositions  to  him. 

For  the  sake  of  "  fifty,"  or  of  '-ten  righteous,"  the 
Lord  would  have  spared  Sodom.  What  value  then 
he  must  set  on  the  few  righteous  in  the  earth  !  •'  For 
ten's  sake ;"  one  perhaps  in  a  thousand,  or  possibly  in 
several  thousands.  For  such  a  proportion  of  holy  fear, 
love,  prayer,  and  practical  purity,  he  would  have 
spared  Sodom.  Such  a  ten  would  have  been  barely 
tolerated  in  the  place — would  have  been  scorned  and 
wronged.  Yet  for  their  sake  the  wicked  thousands 
would  for  a  while  longer  have  enjoyed  the  light  of  the 
sun,  and  ihe  fertility  of  the  plain.  But  even  had  there 
been  the  ten.  what  a  melancholy  spectacle  !  The. 
raass  and  multitude  not  fit  to  live  even  on  earth,  and  only 
ten  fit  to  be  transferred  to  heaven  !  What  a  distribu- 
tion in  the  assignment  to  the  infernal  and  to  the  celes- 
tial world  !  and  how  deplorable  to  find  the  populous- 
ness  of  the  earth  giving  a  calculation  of  the  compara- 
tive solitude  of  heaven  ! 

Abraham  w^as  come  to  the  last  permitted  term  in 
the  gradation  of  his  pleading.  Perhaps  he  felt  an  inti- 
mation from  the  awful  Being  that  he  must  stop  here. 
But  even  if  not,  a  good  man  will  feel  that  he  must  not 
pray  in  total  contravention  to  the  divine  justice.  He 
dare  not  seek  wholly  to  avxrt  from  exercise  one  grand 
attribute  of  the  Governor  of  the  world.  "  A  God  all 
mercy  is  a  God  unjust;"  under  such  a  Governor  the 
human  race  would  go  to  the  very  last  possibility  of 
wickedness.  Abraham  was  to  conclude  here,  and  wait 
the  event.  We  may  observe  what  a  perfect  certainty 
he  felt  that  there  could  not  be  ten,  and  the  Judge  not 
discern  them  everyone. 

"Abraham  returned  to  his  place,"  and  it  was  now 
the  afternoon.  The  people  of  Sodom  little  knew  what 
a  conversation  they  had  been  the  subject  of.    The  vain 


SODOM  AND  GOMORRAH.  211 

and  wicked  little  know,  or  think,  or  care,  what  fear  the 
devout  and  righteous  may  be  entertaining  for  them, 
or  what  intercessory  supplications  they  may  be  making 
— and  if  they  did  know,  many  of  them  would  but  scorn 
such  fears  and  prayers. 

One  righteous  man  dwelt  in  Sodom.  We  never 
think  his  conduct  wise  in  going  thither.  It  had  one 
afflictive  consequence,  namely,  that  some  branches 
of  his  family  were  involved  in  the  destruction.  Yet 
there  was  an  overruhng  Providence  in  the  case,  There 
was  to  be  in  Sodom  something  that  was  to  be  saved 
in  the  hour  of  vengeance,  to  mark  in  a  signal  manner 
the  contrast ;  to  show  how  infallibly  the  righteous  Gov- 
ernor distinguishes  ; — and  what  value  he  sets  on  the 
fidelity  that  will  not  conform  to  the  surrounding  wick- 
edness. He  would  have  there  "a  pearl  of  great  price," 
to  be  selected  out  when  the  mighty  mass  should  sink 
into  a  gulf 

Lot  was  sitting  in  the  gate  of  the  city,  in  the  even- 
ing; on  purpose,  it  is  presumed,  to  receive  any  re- 
spectable stranger  who  would  else  be  cast  away 
among  wicked  barbarians.  It  is  not  improbable  the 
evening  was  serene  and  beautiful.  We  can  imagine  the 
setting  sun,  for  the  last  time,  throwing  a  mild  and  soft- 
ened radiance  on  the  cities  and  across  the  plain ;  and 
numbers  of  the  people  gayly  sporting  in  so  gentle  a 
light  and  air ;  and  no  warning  by  ominous  signs  and 
elemental  disorder.  Nature  keeps  the  secret  -of  her 
great  Governor.  If  conscience  will  not  alarm  the  sin- 
ners, nothing  else  shall.  But  what  was  there  latent 
in  that  soft  tranquillity  ?  There  was  there  the  hover- 
ing power  of  divine  justice — the  spirit  of  reti^'ibution, 
just  growing  to  the  intensity  to  reveal  itself  in  resist- 
less flame. 

Two  strangers  arrived  at  the  gate,  carelessly  re- 
garded, except  by  Lot,  who  "  entertained  angels  una- 
wares." There  was  no  indication  who  they  were,  or 
why  they  came :  there  was  nothing  in  their  appear- 
ance to  intimidate, — nothing  to  repress  a  profligate  in- 
solence.   Some  of  the  people  saw  them,  but  knew  not 


21; 


DESTRUCTION  OF 


what  lliey  saw.  No  mysterious  and  apprehensive  sen- 
timent was  irilused  by  their  coming.  All  was  as  usual 
in  Sodom,  and  even  Lot  knew  of  nothing  that  was  to 
follow. 

But  the  commencement  of  the  tragedy  was  at  hand. 
The  first  movement  was  the  tumult  before  Lots  house; 
— the  assault  actuated  by  the  vilest  wickedness.  When 
nations  or  individuals  are  ready  for  ruin,  they  general- 
ly are  prompt  to  provoke  it, — to  do  that  one  thing  more, 
which  is  all  that  remains  wanting.  When  the  train 
comes  to  the  point,  that  there  is  but  one  more,  they  are 
ready  for  that  also.  The  last  sin  of  a  wicked  career 
seems  to  have  in  it  a  peculiar  awfulness.  The  dread- 
ful efiect  of  all  the  preceding  seemed  suspended;  it 
even  seemed  as  if  that  effect  might  be  averted 
if  the  completing  sin  were  not  added ;  if  the  sinner 
could  have  stopped  short  of  that !  The  former  sins 
seemed,  as  it  were,  to  wait,  to  throw  all  their  deadly 
efficacy  into  the  last,  to  be  there  converged  in  destruc- 
tion. The  concluding  sin  comes  immediately  to  the 
dread  consequence ;  it  is  the  one  that  breaks  through 
into  eternity,  with  all  the  past  sins  rushing  after  it !  It 
belongs  to  hardened  sin,  not  to  be  aware  of  its  own 
atrocity  and  danger.  These  men  of  Sodom,  on  the 
last  evening  of  their  lives,  challenged  the  angels  of  the 
Lord  to  battle  !  "  Unawares  "  they  assaulted  mighty 
celestial  spirits ;  as  "  unawares  "  Lot  had  entertained 
them.  It  i.«  but  a  just  judgment  on  persisting,  hardened 
iniquity,  that  it  should  be  permitted  at  last  to  do  things 
of  which  it  is  not  apprised  of  the  aggravation  and  the 
peril. 

Lot  wpnt  out  to  appease  the  vicious  and  furious  as- 
sailants with  an  offer  which  he  had  no  right  to  make, 
to  expose  to  them  his  daughters ;  it  showed  indeed 
how  sacred  he  held  the  rites  of  hospitality ;  but  all 
duties  are  consistent  and  compatible.  Rather  than  do 
one  great  evil  to  prevent  another,  a  good  man  must 
commit  the  event  to  all-powerful  Providence.  But  the 
matter  was  to  be  decided  after  another  manner.  "The 
two  men  "  drew  Lot  safe  into  the  house,  and  smote  the 


SODOM  AND  GOMORRAH.  213 

people  with  blindness.  Lot  would  be  exceedingly  sur- 
prised at  this ;  perhaps  now  for  the  first  time  he  began 
to  perceive  they  were'  something  more  than  they  ap- 
peared. Whether  it  was  a  total  blindness  we  cannot 
know ;  more  likely  perhaps  a  bewildered  baffling  affec- 
tion of  their  sight.  However,  it  did  not  repress  the 
courage  and  fierceness  of  wickedness.  "  Small  and 
great"  persisted  in  aiming  at  the  door.  If  "small" 
mean  youth,  it  may  warrant  us  to  observe,  that  wicked 
education  very  rarely  fails  to  be  successful. 

The  house  and  family  were  quite  secure ;  but  the 
two  visitants  were  not  come  to  take  or  give  repose. 
They  declared  their  commission  and  purpose;  and  that 
one  thing  only  was  first  to  be  done;  Lot  must  go  to 
his  sons-in-law  and  their  families,  and  warn  them  in- 
stantly to  quit  the  city.  He  did  so  in  vain!  No  won- 
der the  sons-in-law  should  despise  his  w^arning;  but 
their  wives,  his  daughters,  were  of  the  same  mind. 
They  by  this  time  probably  had  lost  his  God ;  and 
therefore  he  must  lose  them.  It  would  be  with  a  sad 
adieu  that  he  left  the  house  of  each.  He  returned  to 
receive  the  peremptory  command  to  take  his  own  family 
and  instantly  be  gone.  The  angels  had  calmly  waited 
while  he  had  gone  to  do  his  part ;  now  they  were  to 
do  theirs.     The  morning  was  beginning  to  appear. 

'•  He  hngered;"  whether  from  some  degree  of  unbe- 
lief, or  from  being  confused  and  stupified  with  amaze- 
ment and  horror.  But  there  was  calmness  and  deci- 
sion there,  though  he  had  none.  The  angels  laid  hold 
on  the  hands  of  Lot  and  his  family,  "  the  Lord  being 
merciful  unto  him."  Such  a  situation  displays  the  con- 
trast between  the  "immortals  "  and  the  feeble  spirits 
clothed  in  flesh; — on  the  part  of  the  tbrmer  the  seren- 
ity,— the  entireness  of  determination, — the  fulness  of 
might  and  will  for  the  most  tremendous  agency, — and 
yet  the  indulgent  kindness.  The  angels  led  them  out 
of  the  devoted  city.  "  Escape  for  thy  life ;  look  not 
behind  thee ;  flee  to  the  mountain,  neither  tarry  thou 
in  all  the  plain."  All  this  might  well  be  named  vis- 
ible providence.  It  was  the  protection  of  the  Almighty, 
19 


214 


DESTRUCTION  OF 


and  the  guardian  cares  of  his  angels  displayed  in  exer- 
cise.— in  the  visible  personal  agency  of  these  powerful 
spirits.  But  though  there  be  now  no  such  palpable 
manifestations,  how  often  may  there  be  in  a  good  man's 
life,  interpositions  as  critical,  and  cares  no  less  patient 
and  kind,  if  the  agency  were  made  visible  in  any  one 
of  many  conjunctures.  Then  for  his  soul  there  is  a 
series  of  agenc}'-  of  a  still  far  nobler  kind !  A  greater 
Spirit  is  employed  there  ! 

Lot  was  departing ;  and  it  is  strange  he  should  not 
have  been  willing  to  remove  as  far  as  possible  from 
such  a  scene  as  this  devoted  place  was  going  to  be. 
But  he  ventured  to  entreat  he  might  make  his  asylum 
in  Zoar,  implying  in  the  petition  that  it  might  for  that 
purpose  be  spared.  This  does  look  like  weakness  ac- 
tually becoming  presumption,but  the  wonderfully  indul- 
gent reply  was,  "  See,  I  have  accepted  thee  in  this 
thing  also ;"  and  with  the  addition,  "I  cannot  do  any 
thing  till  thou  be  come  thither."  But  the  command  to 
hasten  forward  is  finally  repeated  with  a  most  peremp- 
tory urgency.  It  was  but  for  his  sake,  it  had  been  sig- 
nified, that  the  catastrophe  was  delayed  ;  and  not  for 
his  sake  would  it  be  delayed  long.  The  divine  ven- 
geance was  suspended  a  little  while  for  the  piety  and 
the  necessity  of  a  favoured  mortal ;  but  it  was  not  to  be 
suspended  lor  his  trifling  or  unbelief.  The  last  mo- 
ments of  Sodom  were  measuring  out  by  the  steps  of 
the  fugitives  across  the  plain.  During  these  moments 
and  this  flight,  the  thoughts  of  Lot  would  w^ork  in  un- 
speakable amazement.  Only  a  few  short  hours  before, 
he  was  sitting  at  the  gate  and  two  men  approached, 
who  were  invited  into  his  house ; — an  outrage  was 
committed,  and  then  they  were  angels  !  A  few  min- 
utes more,  and  he  was  commanded  away,  with  the 
declaration  of  a  direful  immediate  doom  impending 
over  all  the  region.  The  last  impression  of  their  visages, 
their  hands,  and  their  voices,  was  still  on  his  senses  ; — 
and  he  was  now  impelled  on  by  the  dreadful  appre- 
hension of  hearing  or  seeing  some  tremendous  sign  of 
commencing  destruction. 


SODOM  AND  GOMORRAH.  215 

It  is  quite  possible,  that  in  such  amazement  of  spirit 
he  might  not  even  be  sensible  of  the  fate  of  his  wife, 
till  he  found  her  wanting  at  the  entrance  of  Zoar  ;  es- 
pecially as  he  did  not  look  back,  and  she  was  in  Ihe 
disposition  rather  to  fall  behind  his  steps  than  to  ad- 
vance before  or  beside  him.  For  we  cannot  doubt, 
that  it  was  her  mind  that  looked  back,  as  well  as  her 
eyes.  Though  very  possibly,  the  mere  literal  disobe- 
dience to  the  injunction  would  have  been  fatal.  But 
to  lose  her  so,  perhaps  much  more  than  midway  to  the 
place  of  refuge,  was  most  mournful.  What  an  admo- 
nition to  the  relatives  of  a  pious  person,  to  go  the 
whole  way  with  him  to  the  eternal  refuge  ! 

The  reduced  family  entered  Zoar  and  the  sun  had 
risen  on  the  earth.  But  the  two  men  who  had  come  to 
Sodom  were  left  there  to  await  this  destined  moment; 
to  witness,  in  inaction  and  contemplation,  how  a  wicked 
multitude  began  a  day  of  w^hich  they  were  not  to  see 
the  evening.  But  could  nothing  beguile  or  tempt 
them  away,  before  the  moment  for  action  should  ar- 
rive ?  And  will  nothing  be  done  to  send  them  away  ? 
One  word  from  their  great  Master,  and  they  would 
have  fled  like  the  shades  of  the  night !  And  shall  not 
one  word  be  sent  up  to  him  to  implore  it?  Not  one 
word  for  this,  after  the  cry  of  their  wickedness  had  so 
long  ascended  to  heaven  ?  He  "  repented  "  over  Nin- 
eveh when  it  listened  to  the  warning  voice.  But  here 
all  was  over ! — and  '-the  Lord  rained  fire  and  brim- 
stone," and  "an  horrible  tempest !" 

What  was  the  precise  manner  of  this  fearful  catas- 
trophe is  beyond  our  conjecture.  From  the  conse- 
quence, as  remaining  to  this  hour,  it  would  seem  that 
an  earthquake  either  accompanied  or  followed ;  but 
"  the  fire  from  heaven  "  is  decidedly  indicated  as  the 
grand  chief  agent  of  the  destruction.  What  descent 
of  fire,  however,  and  how  such  an  efiect  on  the  earth, 
none  can  tell.  But  we  repel  that  philosophizing  spirit, 
as  it  would  be  called,  which  insists  on  resolving  all  the 
extraordinary  phenomena,  recorded  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, into  the  effect  of  merely  natural  causes.    Noth- 


216  Elijah's  sacrifice, 

ing  can  be  more  contemptible  than  such  presumption 
of  philojsophy  ;  jnst  as  if  the  order  of  nature  had  been 
constituled  by  some  other  and  greater  Being,  and  in- 
tru^'ted  to  the  Almighty  to  be  administered,  under  an 
obligation,  never  to  suspend  for  a  moment,  tiie  fixed 
laws  !  Just  as  if  it  could  not  consist  with  infinite  Wis- 
dom to  order  a  system  so  that  in  particular  cases  a 
greater  advantage  should  arise  from  a  momentary  de- 
viation than  from  an  invariable  procedure  ! 

The  people  of  Sodom  had  no  time  for  speculations  ; 
— there  was  but  just  time  for  terror,  and  conscience, 
and  despair!  The  images  of  that  hour  of  destructfon 
we  leave  to  contemplative  thought, — and  only  add ; 
that  our  Lord  says,  there  is  a  still  greater  guilt,  and  a 
more  awful  destruction,  even  than  theirs  !  They  will 
see  greater  criminals  than  themselves  at  the  last  day ; 
and  from  lands  where  the  fire  of  heaven  did  not  fall ! 
The  man  that  lives  and  dies  rejecting  him  had  better 
have  been  exposed  to  the  rain  of  fire  and  brimstone,  and 
gone  down  in  the  horrid  gulf  of  the  Vale  of  Siddim! 


XXIII. 

ELLTAH'S  SACRIFICE,  AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF 
BAAL. 

The  sacred  history,  1  Kings  xviii.,  so  wonderful  it- 
self, is  surrounded  by  wonders,  in  the  preceding  and 
following  portions  ;  something  like  a  volcanic  tract, 
where  the  marks  of  a  stupendous  agency  remain  con- 
spicuous on  every  side.  The  preceding  chapter  re- 
lates the  prophet's  denunciation  to  Ahab,  '•  There  shall 
not  be  dew  nor  rain  these  years,  but  according  to  my 
word."  The  expression  is  indeterminate,  as  to  the 
length  of  time.     It  imparts  thus  much  ;  "  there  will  be 


AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF  BAAL.        217 

no  rain  till  I  shall  say  that  there  will, — and  that  will 
not  be  for  several  years."  It  was,  in  the  event,  three 
years  and  a  half.  The  apostle  James  says  that  ••  Eli- 
jah prayed  earnestly  that  it  might  not  rain,"  on  the 
principle  that  the  severest  chastisement  is  better  than 
unchecked  progressive  wickedness  and  utler  ruin.  He 
was  then  commanded  to  disappear ;  and  retired  into 
the  profoundest  solitude,  except  that  the  ravens  found 
him  out,  and  were  made  to  act  like  ministering  spirhs 
to  him.  They  brought  him  food;  his  countrymen 
would  have  administered  poison.  How  they  were 
supplied  with  what  they  brought  to  him^  it  is  in  vain 
to  conjecture.  Possibly  by  depredation  on  the  stores 
of  some  wealthy  idolater ;  if  they  were  sent  to  levy 
such  a  contribution,  it  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  to 
prevent  them. 

He  must  have  stayed  a  good  while  in  this  solitary 
retreat, — for  it  was  "  till  the  brook  dried  up."  It  is  evi- 
dent that  by  the  time  he  went  to  the  widow  of  Zare- 
phath,  the  land  was  in  a  calamitous  condition,  for  she 
had  resigned  all  hope  of  any  further  means  of  life. — 
The  miracle  of  the  meal  and  oil,  and  the  restoration  of 
the  widow's  son. — It  would  seem  that  he  remained  at 
Zarephath  till  the  end  of  the  three  years  and  six 
months ;  he  abode  "  in  a  loit,"  we  are  told,  1  Kings 
xvii.  19,  a  most  humble  apartment!  There  were  spa- 
cious, and  sumptuous,  and  magnificent  abodes  in  the 
land,  but  hither  was  sent  to  dwell — the  person  that  was 
to  go  off  from  the  earth  in  "  a  chariot  of  fire  " — and  here 
doubtless  he  received  visits  which  well  comported  with 
such  a  destiny.  Our  imagination  can  easily  represent 
the  nature  of  his  thoughts  and  exercises,  but  cannot 
rise  to  their  devotional  exaltation  and  solemnity.  The 
utmost  efforts  to  find  him  out  were  made  by  the  king  of 
Israel.  Was  it  in  pure  hatred  and  revenge, — and  in 
order  to  destroy  him  ?  Much  more  probably  it  was  as 
believing  that  in  some  way  or  other,  the  continuance 
or  removal  of  the  dreadful  calamity  materially  depend- 
ed on  Elijah.  Ahab  regarded  him  as  having  pro- 
nounced a  sentence  which  no  one  else  could  set  aside ; 
19* 


218 


ELIJAH  S  SACRIFICE, 


as  a  being  who  had  absconded  with  tl\e  great  key  of 
the  storehouse  ofnature.  But  what  should  Ahabhave 
thought  of  all  his  prophets,  when  thfnj  could  give  him 
no  assistance  toward  discovering  Elijah?  while  nei- 
ther could  they  bring  down  one  shower, — one  drop,  of 
rain  ! 

The  state  of  the  land  and  its  inhabitants  was  by 
this  time  extremely  dreadful.  What  a  picture  might 
have  been  exhibited,  if  the  sacred  historian,  like  other 
historians,  had  been  disposed  to  amplify  for  the  pur- 
pose of  a  striking  effect !  Great  numbers  must  have 
perished ;  the  rest  were  in  a  deplorable  state.  Itf  is 
doubtful  whether  much  assistance  could  be  obtained 
from  the  neighbouring  regions ;  for  the  country  of 
Tyre  and  Sidon  was  equally  afflicted,  for  Zarephath 
was  there.  The  cattle  were  nearly  all  destroyed, — 
as  appears  from  Ahab's  orders  to  Obadiah.  The 
king  himself  went  out.  to  survey  a  part  of  his  desolate, 
miserable  realm,  and  dying  population.  At  every 
step  he  saw  the  effects  of  his  abominable  idolatries. 
It  was,  in  truth,  one  vast  sacrifice  which  he  had  made, 
and  was  making,  to  Moloch  ;  a  nation  of  human  vic- 
tims offered  with  all  the  brute  tribes  in  addition.  For 
since  they  perished  expressly  on  account  of  the  false 
gods,  they,  might  justly  and  strictly  be  accounted  as 
sacriifices ;  and  himself  was  the  royal  high-priest.  But 
no  indication  appears  of  repentance  or  remorse. 

Obadiah  would  behold  the  scene  with  very  different 
emotions.  He  ^'- feared  the  Lord  greatly;"  had  res- 
cued one  hundred  of  the  prophets,  probably  pupils  of 
the  prophets,  from  Jezebel's  massacre.  No  doubt,  it 
was  just  for  the  purpose  of  such  beneficent  services  to 
the  faithful,  that  a  man  like  this  was  preserved,  by  a 
very  special  providence,  safe  in  such  a  station.  We 
may  be  sure  he  vv^as  proved  to  be  of  high  worth  and 
integrity  in  his  office  ;  but  he  had  what  would  be  ac- 
counted the  most  odious  of  all  qualities  in  that  court — 
JideUtij  to  God. 

This  man  was  suddenly  encountered  by  the  very 
last  person  he  could  expect  to  see.     Elijah  had  been 


AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF  BAAL.  219 

commanded  away  from  his  obscure  retreat.  And  he 
was  coming  again  into  action  in  a  manner  that  was 
worth  having  remained  in  devout  contemplation  so 
long.  Obadiah's  plea  to  excuse  liimself  is  overruled. 
But  why  was  not  the  prophet's  course  directed  to  meet 
the  king  himself,  in  the  first  instance?  No  doubt  it 
was  that  the  monarch  might  be  compelled  to  go  to 
meet  him^  as  an  homage  to  the  prophetic  character, 
and  the  divine  authority.  They  met; — knew  each 
other  wxll. — Ahab  attempted  a  di.^play  of  spirit  by 
beginning  with  a  reproachful  salutation;  but  this  was 
not  the  time.  Elijah's  aspect  and  manner  overbore 
him.  The  reproach  was  returned,  not  in  the  way  of 
altercation, — but  of  dignified  authority,  and  with  a 
truth  that  smote  on  conscience;  followed  by  a  crm- 
mand  to  the  king,  to  call  together  his  subjects  and 
his  prophets.  It  does  not  appear  that  he  even  ex- 
plained for  what  purpose.  He  was  not  sent  to  talk  to 
one  man  alone,  even  though  a  king. 

As  to  the  prophet's  deportment  in  this  interview, 
— his  solemn  direct  commission  from  the  Almighty 
placed  him  on  a  ground  above  the  minor  relations  of 
governor  and  subject.  In  ordinary  circumstances, 
he  would  have  been  sensible  of  whatever  respect  was 
due  to  the  ruler  of  the  people,  if  any  respect  icos  due 
to  a  man  who  exercised  that  very  office  for  the  most 
wicked  and  pernicious  purposes  ;  who  promoted,  and 
shared,  and  surpassed,  the  depravity  and  impiety  of 
his  people.  But  here  the  prophet  had  a  high  inde- 
pendent capacity  to  maintain;  he  was  commissioned 
to  speak  and  act  in  character  of  judge  and  dictator — 
and  we  may  believe,  was  far  above  the  meanness  of 
any  miserable  pride  in  doing  so.  That  which  he  v/as 
invested  with,  in  the  special  capacity  of  a  prophet, 
was  in  no  sense  liis  own.  It  was  not  a  talent,  nor  a 
merit.  It  was  an,  official  capacity^  of  which  the  digni- 
ty, or  virtue,  belonged  most  simply  and  entirely  to 
him  that  conferred  it.  It  was  something  extraneous 
to  the  man  himself;  might  be  conferred,  or  taken 
away,  in  a  moment,  and  at  any  moment.     Of  all  this. 


220  Elijah's  sacrifick, 

the  prophets  appear  to  have  been  kept  perfectly  sen- 
sible; accordingly,  it  was  not  personal  arrogance. 
when  they  assumed  a  commanding  manner  and  lan- 
guage. 

Ahab  felt  it  to  be  something  more  than  a  mere  com- 
mand of  Elijah  that  he  should  assemble  the  people 
at  Mount  Carmel.  Therefore  he  instantly  complied, 
though  doubtless  not  without  internal  mortification 
and  refractory  feeling.  "  All  Israel,"  it  is  said,  mean- 
ing of  course  a  good  proportion  of  them  from  all  parts, 
so  as  to  represent  the  whole.  But  literally  all  the 
avowed  priests  of  idolatry,  eight  hundred  and  fifty. 
Their  patroness,  the  queen,  would  concur  in  ordering 
them  thither.  It  was  coming  to  a  question  whether 
she  should  maintain  her  dominion,  with  respect  to  re- 
ligion, in  the  kinfidom.  The  whole  assembling  multi- 
tude, as  soon  as  Elijah  was  heard  of,  may  be  supposed 
to  have  surmised  that  it  was  to  be  some  grand  ques- 
tion concerning  religion — and  it  would  be  a  matter  of 
most  lively  interest  to  all, — if  they  believed  that  the 
dreadful  visitation  of  the  famine  was  implicated  with  it. 

Could  the  idolatrous  part  of  the  multitude  expect 
rain,  and  bread,  from  gods  that  for  so  long  a  time 
could  not,  or  would  not,  give  them  any  ?  There  is 
indeed  no  indication  that  they  had  at  all  repented  of 
their  idolatry,  but  this  experience  would  surely  make 
them  less  attached  to  it.  The  seven  thousand  faithful 
would  hope  that  something  would  be  done  to  shake 
the  horrid  and  cruel  domination  of  false  religion. 
This  might  be  the  wish  also  of  numbers  who  had 
through  fear  yielded  to  practise  its  rites — with  inward 
shame  and  self  reproach.  But  think  of  the  eight 
hundred  and  filty  priests  of  idolatry,  conspicuously 
prominent  on  the  appointed  ground,  in  the  garbs,  and 
with  the  ensigns  of  their  deities,  bearing  evidence  of 
being  loell  fed  "at  Jezebel's  table  !"  Many  of  them 
might  be  rial  devotees,  with  heart  and  soul ;  some, 
mere  professional  officiators.  not  much  thinking  or 
caring  about  the  religion  itself  Some  might  be,  as  in 
the  Romish  church,   little  better  than  atheists^  con- 


AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF  BAAL.  2*21 

Bcious  deceivers  of  the  people,  but  delighting  in  both 
the  domination  and  the  emolument.  On  the  wliole. 
there  might  be  great  confidence  among  them  that 
they  could  not  have  much  to  apprehend  from  a  ren- 
counter with  the  single,  proscribed  prophet  Elijah. 
Presumption  is  a  characteristic  attendant  on  false  re- 
ligion, and  on  a  falsification  of  the  true,  for  it  inspires 
a  high  self-valuation.  But  these  men  really  had  a 
great  deal  to  sustain  their  presumption. 

The  trial  however  was  now  at  hand.  "  How  long 
halt  ye  between  two  opinions?  If  the  Lord  be  God. 
follow  him  ;  but  if  Baal,  follow  him."  "And  the  people 
answered  him  not  a  word."  Was  this  silence  right, 
on  the  part  of  the  faithtul  adherents  ?  We  think  not  ; 
for  Elijah's  address  was  plainly  an  appeal  to  their 
present  convictfbns, — antecedently  lo  any  proof  Avhich 
he  might  be  about  to  give.  Where  was  Obadiah  in 
this  juncture  ?  Did  they  think  it  would  be  an  ill-timed 
ostentation,  an  irreverent  disturbance  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  scene  ? — They  would  plead  so  afterwards,  no 
doubt;  would  say,  "they  had  been  quite  certain  of  the 
result  of  the  prophet's  proceedings. — and  therefore  it 
would  have  been  but  an  affectation  of  zeal  and 
courage  to  have  declared  themselves  previously."  All 
expressed  approbation  of  the  grand  test  which  he  pro- 
posed. The  proposal  was  too  sudden,  and  too  imme- 
diately to  be  executed,  to  allow  those  wicked  men  any 
time  for  artful  contriv^ance ;  else  certainly  it  would 
have  been  attempted,  though  in  that  case  frustrated. 

It  was  proper  that  the  idolaters  should  make  the 
experiment  first,  and  most  ample  time  was  given 
them.  Some  delay  of  their  success  might  even  have 
been  of  service  to  their  cause.  Contemplate  this  im- 
mense legion  of  priests  calling  on  Baal,  before  the 
waiting,  gazing  multitude ! — Behold  a  sample  of  that 
human  reason  which  has  itself  been  idolized, — sol- 
emnly, perseveringly,  furiously,  invoking — a  nonentity 
— a  vain  creation  of  fancy — and  fashioned  by  that 
fancy  in  the  most  hateful  character !  Baal  and  Baahm 
are  very  indefinite  denominations,  being*  given  to  a 


2i2  Elijah's  sacrifice, 

great  diversity  of  pagan  deitiee.  It  is  supposed  that 
the  chief  Baal  of  Palestine  was  nearly  the  same  as 
the  Jupiter  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  ;  but  with  a 
confused  participation  of  the  attributes  of  divers  di- 
vinities. In  the  instance  before  us  he  seems  to  have 
been  worshipped  without  an  image.  This  assemblage 
of  priests  most  Hkely  adored  a  variety  of  gods  in  this 
one  comprehensive  service.  The  priests  of  "  the 
groves"  united,  though  named  as  a  distinct  class. 
'•  They  called,  from  morning  till  noon  ;"  but  no  an- 
swer ;  no  sign ;  no  flash  of  electric  fire ;  no  demon's 
invisible  torch  permitted  !  For  though  there  was  no 
Baal  there,  to  hear  the  conjuration,  we  can  easily 
imagine  there  were  hovering  there  unseen,  agents 
who  would  soon  have  lighted  the  flame,  if  not  re- 
strained by  superior  power.  Such  aid'  would  not  have 
been  wanting  as  that  which  was  permitted  for  a  while 
to  the  magicians  of  Egypt.  But  this  time,  those 
agents  were  to  look  on,  and  forbear !  The  people 
also  looked  on, — with  intense  interest !  There  were 
Israelites  waiting  to  see  who  was  their  God  !  Some 
of  those  beguiled  sinners  would  wonder  at  Baal's  de- 
lay. Some  would  feel  doubt  coming  on  their  minds, 
and  some  would  begin  to  feel  scorn.  Elijah  too  long 
looked  on  ;  he  could  give  them  time.  He  knew  he 
should  want  little  himself  Let  all  their  gods  be  in- 
voked, by  all  their  names  and  titles !  Let  all  their 
incantations  be  expended  I  Let  their  last  tribute  of 
idolatrous  zeal  be  tully  paid !  Let  the  deluded  mis- 
erable populace  see  how  tenacious  their  spiritual  ty- 
rants were  of  their  enslaved  souls  ! 

It  was  in  silence  that  the  prophet  had  thus  long 
looked  on.  When  he  did  speak,  what  would  you 
have  him  to  have  said  ?  a  gentle  dissuasion  ? — that 
would  have  been  no  fit  language  to  the  insulters  of 
the  Almighty, — and  the  destroyers  of  the  people  !  a 
loud  denunciation  of  vengeance  ? — that  was  to  be 
executed,  and  needed  not  be  spoken.  "It  came  to 
pass  that  Elijah  mocked."  We  are  not  to  imagine 
this  as  said"  in  a  light,  bantering  tone   of  pleasantry  ; 


AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF  BAAL.        223 

as  if  the  prophet  would  amuse  himself  with  their  un- 
successful impiety ;  but  as  an  austere  and  bitter 
rebuke  in  the  form  of  sarcasm,  and  it  had  in  it  a  pro- 
priety and  truth,  without  which  sarcasm  and  ridicule 
have  no  point.  Some  such  thing  as  he  in  mockery 
suggests,  was  to  be  supposed  by  them  to  account  for 
their  failure.  "  He  is  a  god,"  ''  as  you  assume, — and 
favourable  to  you.  There  must  therefore  be  some 
occasional  cause  of  this  his  inattention.  Is  he  not 
talking,  pursuing,  in  a  journey,  or  asleep  ?"  Now  this 
was  quite  pertinent,  because  the  heathens  did  sup- 
pose such  things  might  happen,  to  prevent  the  gods 
hearing  them.  Le  Clerc  illustrates  from  Homer — 
Jupiter  had  a  bed,  and  sometimes  went  to  sleep — 
Thetis  could  not  obtain  a  desired  boon  from  Jupiter, 
because  he  was  gone  on  a  journey  to  Ethiopia,  and 
was  not  to  return  for  twelve  days.  Baal's  worship- 
pers were  not  less  gross  in  their  notions;  and  there- 
fore such  things  were  justly  thrown  in  their  teeth. 
Will  any  one  say  this  was  too  harsh,  and  almost  cruel, 
when  Elijah  saw  the  wretched  men  thus  labouring  in 
vain  ?  What!  in  the  land  of  Israel? — among  a  peo- 
ple perishing  under  the  effects  of  the  abominations 
which  these  men  had  promoted  among  them  ]  What  I 
after  these  wicked  men  had  doubtless  abetted  Jezebel 
in  killing  all  the  teachers  of  the  true  religion  that 
could  be  found  ? 

After  hours  of  vain  invocation,  they  had  recourse  to 
their  most  wild  and  barbarous  rites  ;  leapt  upon  the 
altar — cut  themselves.  Now,  this  was  no  newly  in- 
vented expedient  of  theirs,  prompted  by  despair. 
These  were  customary  rites  in  the  worship  of  several 
heathen  deities.  It  was  like  a  judicial  doom,  that 
those  who  would  worship  false  gods,  should  do  it  at 
the  cost  of  plaguing  and  torturing  themselves.  Mis- 
erably exhausted  many  of  these  priests  must  have  be- 
come, but  the  will  was  resolute,  inflexible,  and  invin- 
cible ;  they  went  on  till  near  the  time  of  the  Jewish 
"evening  sacrifice."  Still  no  voice, — no  auspicious 
sign,— no  fire.  The  great  assembly  that  witnessed 
this  long  process,  had  to  make  their  reflections.    The 


224  Elijah's  sacrifice, 

great  majority  had  to  reflect  that  these  were  the  per- 
sonages to  whom  they  had  long  surrendered  their 
judgments,  their  consciences,  and  the  rehgion  of  the 
God  ol"  Israel;  that  these  had  been  their  accepted' 
intercessors  with  invisible  power.  They  had  to  con- 
sider in  what  degree  themselves  might  be  involved 
in  the  consequences  which  now  would  seem  to  im- 
pend. It  was  too  much  to  hope  that  justice  would 
entirely  dissever  the  retribution. 

Elijah  knew  his  appointed  moment.  Think  what  a 
mighty  tide  of  feeling  would  rush  toward  him  when 
he  summoned  the  people  to  a  new  ground,  and  a  dif- 
ferent altar !  A  ruined  altar  which  he  had  to  rebuild  ; 
it  was  left  undone  till  then. — that  there  might  be  no 
air  of  previous  assumption,  "  I  will  wait  to  see  wheth- 
er an  altar  will  be  wanted ;"  nor  of  careful  prepara- 
tion; the  stones  had  remained  out  of  their  place,  that 
every  one  of  them  might  be  laid  under  the  inspection 
of  so  many  observers.  Then  the  water  was  poured 
three  times.  See  how  rigorously  the  Governor  of  the 
world  w^ould  authenticate  a  miraculous  interposition. 
This  "  water  "  would  be  a  most  formidable  circum- 
stance in  the  view  of  the  idolatrous  priests.  It  was 
truly  a  strange  preparation  for  a  burnt  sacrifice  in  the 
presence  of  those  to  whom  not  one  spark  had  been 
afforded  by  heaven,  or  earth,  or  hell ;  w^hen  the  active 
spirit  of  that  element  seemed  as  profoundly  asleep  as 
Baal  himself.  No  sign  of  it — no  blue  sulphureous  ele- 
ment had  begun  to  appear  round  this  new  altar — no 
meteors  to  hiss  and  glare.  But  there  was  to  be  a  fire, 
under  which  the  water,  and  the  very  stones,  w^ere  in 
a  moment  to  vanish !  An  emblem, — may  we  not  con- 
sider it  ? — or  rather  a  precursory  sparkle,  and  beam, 
and  specimen,  of  that  fire  to  which,  one  day,  the 
globe  shall  be  a  sacrifice,  in  contempt  of  all  its  oceans  ! 
But  that  fire  will  leave  no  more  controversies  to  be 
decided  between  God  and  false  divinities.  That  will 
be  a  ufneral  flame,  as  to  the  dominion  of  the  powers 
of  evil,  in  this  world  ;  but  it  will  not  be  lighted  till  all 
is  ready  for  the  sacrifice,  as  Elijah's  fire  was  not. 
Nothing  is  more  solemn  than  a  short  delay  in  an  aw- 


AND  THE  PRIESTS  OF  BAAL.  225 

lul  crisis !  It  did  not  come  till  he  had  distinctly  in- 
voked hi?ri,  to  whose  sole  divinity  it  was  lo  testify. 
The  whole  assembly  were  clearly  to  undersiand 
what  being  it  was  on  whom  he  called  for  the  de- 
monstrative sign,  which  had  irradiated  the  cloud 
before  the  camp  of  Israel.  The  fire  was  to  second  that 
which  had  flamed  on  Sinai,  and  which  had  descended 
on  Sodom,  it  was  to  be  a  fire  of  intelligence,  as  well  as 
power.  It  was  to  be  Elijah's  prayer  converted  and 
returned  in  flame.  The  prophet's  prayer  was,  that 
the  very  TRurn  might  lighten  on  the  scene, — and 
consume  all  question,  doubt,  and  subterfuge.  The 
Invisible  Presence  was  there;  the  thunderbolt  was 
ready;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  ended,  "  it  fell."  Neither 
sacrifice,  nor  altar,  nor  water,  remained  !  The  whole 
materials  of  the  testimony  were  consumed  ;  as  the 
book  of  divine  revelation  will  perish  in  the  last  fire 
that  fulfils  its  prediciions. 

The  effect  was  irresistible  on  the  multitude. 
••  When  all  the  people  saw  it  they  fell  on  their  faces : 
and  they  said,  Tlie  Lord,  he  is  the  God  ;  the  Lord, 
he  is  the  God."  As  to  the  priests  of  idolatry,  it  was 
in  literal  obedience  to  the  divine  law,  given  to  the 
Israelites,  that  they  were  all  put  to  death.  Deuter- 
onomy xiii.  5.  The  heap  that  was  probably  raised 
over  their  dead  bodies,  ought  to  have  been  to  the 
people  a  monument,  as  conspicuous  to  thought  as  Car  ■ 
mel  was  to  their  view. 

The  whole  transaction  should  be  conspicuous  and 
monumental.  We  think — how  powerlial  and  how  holy 
a  being  then  was  manifested.  Let  us  not  forget  to 
consider,  that  it  was  the  same  being  in  whose  pres- 
ence we  are  every  moment;  and  under  whose  gov- 
ernment we  shall  be  for  ever.  Let  us  reflect  how  all 
idolatry,  that  of  which  we  may  be  guilty,  is  to  be 
dreaded  in  such  a  presence — and  let  us  ihmk  how  the 
adoration  is  to  by  performed, — and  how  the  meicy 
is  to  be  propitiated,  of  a  God  whose  ju&tice  is  a 
•'  consuming  tire." 

20 


XXIV. 

IGNORANCE  OF  OUR  FUTURE  MODE  OF  EXIST- 
ENCE. 

"  It  doth  not  yet  appear  vhat  ive  shall  be." — It  is  the 
familiar  experience  olour  thinking,  that  the  mind  is  ol  ten 
led  into  questions,  the  pursuit  of  something  not  clearly 
known,  and  desired  to  be  known.  Many  of  these  ques- 
tions are  such  as,  being  pursued,  soon  lead  the  thinking 
spirit  to  the  brink,  as  it  were,  ofa  vast  unfathomable  gulf. 
It  is  arrested,  and  becomes  powerless  at  the  limit;  there 
it  stands,  looking  on  a  dark  immensity;  the  little  light  of 
intellect  and  knowledge  which  it  brings  or  kindles. 
can  dart  no  ray  into  the  mysterious  obscurity.  Some- 
times there  seems  to  be  seen,  at  some  unmeasured  dis- 
tance, a  glimmering  spot  of  light,  but  it  makes  no- 
thing around  it  visible,  and  itself  vanishes. 

But  often  it  is  one  unbounded,  unvaried,  starless, 
midnight  darkness. — without  one  luminous  point 
through  infinite  space.  To  this  obscurity  we  are 
brought  in  pursuing  any  one  of  very  many  questions  of 
mere  speculation  and  curiosity.  But  there  is  one  ques- 
tion which  combines  with  the  interest  of  speculation 
and  curiosity  an  interest  incomparably  greater,  nearer, 
more  affecting,  more  solemn.  It  is  the  simple  question 
— "  What  shall  we  ee  ?"  How  soon  it  is  spoken  ! — 
but  who  shall  reply?  Think,  how  profoupdly  this 
question,  this  mystery,  concerns  us, — and  in  compari- 
son with  this,  what  are  to  us  all  questions  of  all  sci- 
ences ?  What  to  us  all  researches  into  the  constitu- 
tion and  laws  of  material  nature?  What — all  inves- 
tigations into  the  history  of  past  ages  ?  What  to  us 
— the  future  career  of  events  in  the  progress  of  states 
and  empires?  What  to  us — what  shall  become  of 
this  globe  itself,  or  all  the  mundane  system  ?  What 
WE  shall  be,  we  ourselves,  is  the  matter  of  surpassing 
and  infinite  interest ! 

There  is  in  the  contemplation  a  magnitude,  a  so- 
lemnity, which  transcends  and  overwhelms  our  utmost 


i 


OUR  FITTDRE  MODE  OF  EXISTENCE.  2*27 

faculty  of  thought.  To  think  that  we,  who  are  here, 
and  are  thus  in  possession  of  an  existence  which  is 
but  as  of  yesterday, — shall  continue  to  be  in  some 
mode,  and  in  some  scene,  of  existence,  for  milhons  of 
ages,  and  that  that  will  still  be  as  nothing,  in  compar- 
ison with  what  is  still  to  follow!  that  a  duration  pass- 
ing away  beyond  all  reach  of  the  stupendous  power 
ot  numbers,  will  still  be  as  nothing!  That  it  will  still 
be  we  ourselves,  the  very  same  beings.  That  it  will 
be  a  perfectly  specific  manner  of  being — with  a  full 
consciousness  of  what  it  is — an  internal  world  of 
thought  and  emotion — a  perfect  sense  of  relations  to 
the  system  in  which  we  shall  find  ourselves  placed  ; 
— and  this  a  continual  succession  of  distinct  sentiments 
and  experiences,  and  with  the  constant  certainty  of 
the  train  going  on  for  ever  ! 

Reflect  again,  that  it  is  we,  ourselves,  of  whom  we 
are  saying  this.  How  overpowered  are  we  in  the  at- 
tempt to  realize,  to  thought,  what  nevertheless  will  be 
so  ! — "  I,  that  am  now,  that  am  here,  that  am  thus  ; — 
what  shall  I  be,  and  where,  and  how,  when  this  vast 
system  of  nature  shall  have  passed  away  ?"  What, — 
after  ages  more  than  there  are  leaves,  or  blades  of 
grass,  on  the  whole  surface  of  this  globe,  or  atoms  in  its 
enormous  mass,  shall  have  expired?  What — after 
another  such  stupendous  lapse  of  duration  shall  be 
gone?  Those  terms,  of  amazing  remoteness,  will  ar- 
rive ;  yes,  those  periods,  the  very  thought  of  which 
ensrulfs  our  faculties,  will  he  come,  will  be  past ! 

Through  every  step  and  advance,  in  the  incalculable 
succession,  on  through  those  periods,  the  fact  of  what 
we  then  are,  will  be  in  mighty  evidence  pressing  on 
all  our  perceptions,  and  then  still  onward,  infinitely, 
eternally  beyond ;  and  will  be  definable,  in  certain 
terms  of  a  language  in  which  we  shall  then  form  or 
expref?^  our  conceptions.  "  I  am" — but  what  will  follow? 
— what  \v\\\  thedescription  be?  what  constitution,  v^^hat 
manner  of  existence  ?  what  faculties  ?  how  exerted  ? 
what  feelings?  what  employments  ?  what  relations  ? 
what  communications  ?  what  place  ?  There  will  be  the 
fact,  the  actual  reality,  answering  to  all  these  ques 


228  IGNORANCE  OF  OUR 

tions.  But  what  it  will  be,  there  is  but  One  Intel- 
ligenoe  tliat  porfecUy  knows.  But  here,  even  in  our 
own  breasts,  are  the  intelligences  that  will  know,  and 
know  in  their  own  experience — the  incomparably  most 
interesting  manner  of  knowing. 

Is  not  this,  beyond  all  others,  the  subject  for  deep 
and  solemn  musing — for  intense  inquisitiveness — for 
awful  wonder? 

Think  again,  of  what  diminutive  concern,  in  com- 
parison, are  many  of  those  ambitious  inquiries  to 
reach  the  Unknown,  which  have  been  the  most  in- 
tense excitement  to  investigating  minds.  To  ascer- 
tain, for  instance,  the  yet  unknown  course  of  a  great 
river,  has  excited  the  invincible  ardour  of  some  of 
the  most  enterprising  of  mortals — who,  in  long  succes- 
sion, have  dared  all  perils,  and  sacrificed  their  lives. 
To  force  a  passage  among  unknown  seas  and  coasts, 
in  the  most  frowning  and  dreadful  regions  and  cli- 
mates; to  penetrate  to  the  discovery  of  the  hidden 
laws,  and  powers,  and  relations  of  nature  ;  to  ascertain 
the  laws,  the  courses,  the  magnitudes,  the  distances, 
of  the  heavenly  bodies ; — something — is  the  truth,  in 
all  these  subjects  of  ambitious  and  intent  inquisition. 
But  what  if  all  this  could  be  known  ? — If  we  could 
have  the  entire  structure  of  this  globe  disclosed,  to  its 
very  centre,  to  our  sio-ht  or  intelligence  ; — if,  through 
some  miraculous  intervention  of  divine  power,  we 
could  have  a  vision  of  the  whole  economy  of  one  of  the 
remotest  stars; — or  if  our  intelligt^nce  could  pass 
down,  under  a  prophetic  illumination,  to  the  end  of 
time  in  this  world,  beholding,  in  continued  series,  the 
grand  course  of  the  world's  affairs  and  events; — what 
would  any  or  all  of  these  things  he,  in  comparison 
with  the  mighty  prospect  of  our  own  eternal  exist- 
ence?— with  what  is  to  be  revealed  upon  us,  and  to 
be  realized  in  our  very  being,  and  experience,  through 
everlasting  duration? 

When  we  think  of  such  a  comparison  we  may  justly 
indulge  some  regret  and  wonder,  that  very  many 
inquisitive  minds, — perhaps  the  far  greater  number 
of  suchj — should  feel  an  immeasurably  greater  degree 


FUTURE  MODE  OF  EXISTENCE.  229 

of  curiosity,  interest,  and  even  solicitude,  in  directing 
their  thoughts  to  the  unknown  and  the  future  of  the 
inferior  subjects  of  conjecture  and  anticipation,  than  to 
this  superhitively  important  unicnovvn.  Not  that  we 
would  wish  to  throw  any  disparagement  on  the  con- 
jectural inquisitive  excursions  of  mind  on  any  sub- 
ject of  inquiry.  But  surely  it  is  a  proof  of  strange 
perversion  in  the  soul  of  man,  that  these  eager  ex- 
cursions to  penetrate  i;.to  the  remote  and  obscure, 
should  go  on  every  track  rather  than  on  the  grand 
line  of  its  own  future  existence! 

It  would  not  be  an  adequate  nor  an  honest  plea,  to 
allege  that  the  knowledge  is  beyond  our  reach.  In 
any  matter  where  we  teel  a  profound  prospective  in- 
lerest,  the  thoughts,  the  imagination,  will  go  that  way, 
by  an  irresistible  attraction.  When  certain  that  there  is 
to  be  something  great,  and  immensely  important  to 
ourselves — the  spirit  goes  forth  towards  it,  earnestly 
tries  to  look  into  the  distance — eagerly  seizes  all 
glimpses,  intimations,  prognostics — revolves  the  prob- 
abilities, the  possibilities— exerts  its  utmost  power  ol 
reason,  conjecture,  invention — to  form  to  itself  an  im- 
age of  what  the  fact  may  be.  How  prodigiously,  how 
monstrously  strange  it  were,  that  there  should  not  be 
the  very  utmost  of  this  ardent  excitement  in  the  anti- 
cipation of  what  we  shall  be  hereafter  and  for  ever. 
This  earnest  tendency  to  look  forward  is  natural  and 
rational,  notwithstanding  that  such  darkness  rests  over 
the  immense  in  terminable  scene  of  our  future  existence. 

But  still,  the  question  will  arise.  Why  is  it  so  over- 
shadowed \vith  darkness, — since  it  concerns  us  so 
deeply,— since  it  is  ours?  There  is  something  that  is 
ours,  which  is  to  be  a  thousand  years  hence,  a  million 
of  years  hence,  a  million  of  ages  hence,  a  million 
times  that,— and  so  forward  ;  it  is  ours,  for  it  is  certain 
to  be,  and  certain  to  be  inseparable  from  us.  It  is  to 
be  even  ourselves,  as  absolutely  ours  as  the  state  we 
are  to  be  in  to-morrow  is  so  ; — nay,  as  much  as  the 
state  we  are  in  this  moment  belongs  to  us.  But  then, 
the  case  being  so, — why  are  we  so  precluded  from  a 
20* 


230  IGNORANCE  OF  OUR 

foresight  which  vvoulil  in  some  measure  enable  us  to 
reaUze,  lo  our  apprehenf^ion.  that  lliiure  Plate  of  our- 
selves?— One  obvious  thing  in  answer  is,  the  essential 
impossibility.  ReHect.  how  very  impertVctly  we  com- 
prehend even  our  prer^ent  existence, — after  al!  manner 
of  experience  of  it.  and  intimacy  with  it.  Diminutive 
as  wt  are,  we  involve  a  w-orld  of  mystery.  The  acut- 
est,  the  profoundest  investigators  have  been  baffled. 
What  is  life  ?  What  is  soul  ?  What  is  even  body  ? 
How  combined  ? — and  if  we  had  the  means  of  pur- 
suir^g  the  inquiry  into  our  future  state,  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed that  every  mystery  would  be  aggravated  upon 
us.  It  is  true,  that  the  great  '•  Revealer  of  secrets"' 
could  have  told  us,  by  revelation,  some  things  respect- 
ing the  future  state  which  we  might,  in  some  super- 
ficial general  manner,  have  understood.  For  exam- 
ple;— whether  the  disembodied  spirit  will  have  a  ma- 
terial vehicle?  Whether  there  will  be  a  distinct  for- 
mal process  of  judgment  on  it  at  death?  In  what 
place  it  shall  dwell  till  the  resurrection  ?  Whether  it 
will,  during  that  interval,  be  apprized  of  the  transac- 
tions on  this  earth  ?  Whether  it  will  have  sensible, 
intimate  communications  with  superior  spirits? 
Whether  it  will  have  a  clearer,  vaster  manifestation 
of  the  grand  scene  of  the  creation  ?  Whether  it  will 
Iiave  a  luminous  foresight  of  what  it  will  become  at 
the  resurrection  ?  When,  and  of  what  kind,  will  be 
the  local  habitations  thereafter  ?  What  the  employ- 
ments will  chiefly  consist  of? 

All  this,  hovvever.  would  have  reached  but  a  little 
way  into  the  eternal  progression  ! — even  if  so  lar  it 
gave  us  light.  But  what  we  would  insist  on  is,  that 
all  disclosures  given  of  the  future  state  would  have 
been,  to  us,  faint  and  inefficient  information.  For  if  it 
had  been  given  in  terms  merely  general,  it  would 
have  left  our  conceptions  in  a  state  nearly  as  vague 
and  unsatislactory  as  ever,  no  definite  substance  ;  and. 
in  particular  and  specific  terms  it  could  not  have  been 
given,  without  becoming  either  unintelligible  or  de- 
graded ;  for  it  must  have  been  given  either  in  terms 


FUTURE  MODE  OF  EXISTENCE.  23J 

of  very  close  analogy  with  our  present  state, — or  in 
terms,  if  any  such  could  Jiave  been  found,  fitted  and 
true  to  the  nature  of  a  vastly  different  economy.  Sup- 
pose the  former ;  that  is,  terms  and  images  belonging 
to  our  present  state. — then  the  descriptive  information 
would  have  been  degraded.  For  then,  the  whole  vis- 
ion that  should  have  been  so  grand,  would  have  been 
brought  down  towards  the  level,  though  not  quite  to 
it,  ot^our  present  notions  and  state.— our  modes  of  life, 
— of  habitation,  of  narrow  limited  activity,  of  imperfect 
social  communication.  There  would  be  a  servile 
analogy  or  resemblance  to  our  manner  of  relation  to 
place,  to  surrounding  elements,  to  the  modes  and 
sources  of  pleasure — and  to  our  means  and  instru- 
ments of  knowledge  and  power.  In  short,  the  whole 
revealed  description  must  have  been  conformed  to  the 
apprehensions  of  beings  living  in  these  gross  bodies, 
and  having  all  their  ideas  modified  by  their  bodily 
senses.  But  this  would  be  to  humiliate,  to  degrade 
the  description  and  theory  of  a  superior  state  ;  and 
not  oily  would  the  description  be  degraded, — but  it 
would  not  be  true.  On  such  accounts,  a  thinking  and 
aspiring  mind  feels  little  satisfaction  or  complacency 
in  any  of  those  imaginary  particular  representations 
of  what  the  economy  of  a  superior  world  may  be  sup- 
posed to  be.  There  is  a  recoiling  feeling, — "  that  is 
far  too  like  things  as  they  might  be  here — that  is 
making  only  a  superior  terrestrial  state." 

We  supposed,  on  the  other  hand,  the  revealed  speci- 
fic description  ol"a  future  state  to  be  given  in  terms  truly 
appropriate  to  a  quite  different  and  higher  economy, 
—and  then  it  would  have  been  unintelligible.  But  in 
truth  the  supposition  itself  is  unintelligible  and  absurd. 
That  would  be  the  language  of  another  world.  No 
terms  could  convey  to  us  a  totally  diri'erent  order  of 
ideas;  no  human  language  could  do  it,— and  any 
other  would  be  but  the  mysterious  emblems  of  eter- 
nity— bright,  indeed,  on  yonder  side,  loward  heaven, 
but  dark  on  this,  toward  us.  Such  a  revelalioa 
would  be  a  sun  in  total  and  perpetual  eclipse, 


232  IGNORAxNCE  OF  OUR 

We  say,  then,  that  it  does  not  "  yet  appear  what  wc 
shall  be,"  plainly  because  it  is  impossible. 

Ifwe  went  no  farther  in  the  inquiry  than  merely  the 
state  immediately  after  death,  the  separate  state, — 
we  can  instantly  conceive,  that  when  the  soul  is  taken 
out  of  this  body  with  all  its  senses,  and  therefore  out 
of  the  whole  system  of  relations  with  the  senses,  and 
all  the  modes  of  perception  belonging  to  the  senses,  it 
must  be  in  a  state  of  wHich  no  specific  idea*  can  be 
conveyed  to  us. 

Even  supposing,  contrary  to  all  this,  ihat  some  spe- 
cific conceptions  of  the  future  state  could  be  and  were 
conveyed  to  us.  the  effect  would  not  be  what  we  are 
ready  to  imagifte.  We  are  apt  to  fancy  how  mightily 
and  permanently  striking  and  commanding  such  ideas 
would  be.  But  no — they  v/ould  become  gradually  fa- 
miliarized among  our  ideas,  and  lose  their  extraordi- 
nary and,  so  to  speak,  extra-mundane  qualify  and 
power  of  impression.  They  must  be  mingled  with 
our  ordinary  conceptions,  be  adverted  to  in  our 
ordinary  language,  and  would  soon  cease  to  be  like 
messengers  sent  to  us  from  the  dead  and  the  world  of 
spirits. 

A  lar  stronger  impression  is  made  on  thinking  spir- 
its, and  on  others  nothing  makes  an  impression,  by  an 
undefined  magnificence,  by  a  grand  and  awful  myste- 
ry,— when  we  are  absolutely  certain  that  there  is  a 
stupendous  reality  veiled  in  that  mystery ;  when 
quite  certain  too,  that  it  rt-lates  to  ourselves — and  that 
it  will  at  length  be  disclosed. 

Such  a  grand  reality,  thus  mysteriously  veiled,  at- 
tracts thinking  spirits  most  mightily — like  the  mystic 
and  awful  recess  in  the  inmost  part  of  the  temple.  It 
keeps  in  action  the  inquisitiveness,  conjectures,  expec- 
tation. It  sets  the  mind  on  imagining  the  utmost  that 
it  can  of  grandeur  and  importance  ;  and  the  idea  still 
is,  after  the  utmost  efforts,  "It  is  far  greater  than 
even  ail  that .'" 

Thus,  if  we  will  think,  thisgrandeur  veiled  in  darkness 
has  a  more  powerful  effect  on  the  mind,  than  any  dis- 
tinct particulars  made  palpable  to  our  apprehension 


FUTURE  MODE  OF  EXISTENCE.  233 

— and  brought  down  to  our  level  in  order  to  be  made 
eo.  So  far  then  it  is  better  that  it  should  not  "  yet  ap- 
pear what  we  shall  be." 

In  this  life  men  are  placed  in  this  world's  relations, 
a  system  of  relations  corresponding  to  our  inhabitincr 
a  gross,  frail,  mortal  body,  with  all  its  wants  and  cir- 
cumstances— and  That  we  have  to  perform  all  the  va- 
rious business  of  this  world.  That  there  are  innumer- 
able thoughts,  cares,  employments,  belonging  insepa- 
rably to  this  our  state ;  and  that  therefore  there  must 
not  be  such  a  manifestation  of  the  future  state  as 
would  confound,  stop,  and  breakup,  this  system.  It  is 
true,  that  what  we  have  been  saying,  nearly  amounts 
to  this — that  no  revelation  in  words,  such  as  we 
could  clearly  understand,  would  so  take  hold  on  our 
minds  as  to  produce  any  such  effect.  To  produce 
such  an  effect,  there  must  then  be  mighty  and  por- 
tentous circumstances  and  appearances,  extraordina- 
ry interferences,  things  to  astonish  and  shake  the  con- 
stitution of  our  nature ;  or  else,  perfectly  extraordinary 
impressions  forced  on  our  minds  to  give  ns  intimations 
and  specimens  of  another  state  of  existence,  and 
produce  overpowering  emotions  concerning  it.  This 
could  be,  if  God  so  willed — but  this  must  not  be,  be- 
cause it  w^ould  unfit  men  for  the  regular  performance 
of  the  business  of  this  life. 

We  add  that  other  plain  reason  for  our  being  kept 
in  such  ignorance  of  the  exact  nature  of  the  future 
state  ;  that  faith  is  to  be  the  grand  principle  of  our 
feelings  and  conduct  respecting  hereafter.  We  are  to 
believe,  to  be  persuaded,  and  to  act  conformably  to 
that  persuasion, — the  whole  present  system  must  be 
consonant  with  this.  This  appointment  of  faith  to  be 
the  actuating  principle,  is  partly,  as  we  see,  because  it 
cannot  be  otherwise  ;  and  partly  because,  to  be  gov- 
erned by  the  declaration  and  will  of  God,  is  the  vital 
essence  of  all  the  obligations  of  his  creatures. 

But  now,  will  it  not  be  said,  that  the  latter  part  of 
these  representations  does  in  effect  contradict  the 
former  ;  that  we  first  make  it  a  reproach  to  men  that 
they  so  little  direct  their  thoughts  and  imaginatio-^  ^-^ 


234  IGNORANCE  OF  OUR 

a  fature  state, — and  that  next  we  acquit  them,  by 
showing  the  impos.sibiHty  of  forming  any  clear  concep- 
tions of  it,  if  they  did  so  direct  their  minds?  What  is 
the  use,  it  may  be  said,  of  indulging  our  musings  and 
inquisitive  conjectures  on  the  unknown?  We  an- 
swer, it  is  necessary,  when  there  is  such  a  stupendous 
reahty  for  certain  before  us,  it  is  evidently  a  primary 
duty  io  think  of  it,  and  with  deepest  interest: — and  we 
cannot  think  of  it  as  one  simple,  single,  invariable  idea. 
The  mind  must  go,  or  attempt  to  go,  in  some  degree, 
into  special  modes  of  conception  respecting  it. 

It  is  an  elevating  and  spiritualizing  exercise  of  the 
mind.  It  tends  to  carry  the  soul  a  little  way  toward 
its  proper  region,  and  to  lessen  the  false  importance 
of  the  things  of  this  world,  and  to  slacken  their  hold. 
It  contributes  to  obviate  that  unnatural  and  pernicious 
estrangement  and  dissociation  between  our  present 
and  fuiure  state.  It  lends  to  habituate  the  spirit  to 
seek  and  find  the  grand  importance  of  its  existence  in 
its  hereafter,  and  to  awake  a  lively  and  a  sacred  curios- 
ity— which  is  surely  a  right  and  a  worthy  state  of 
feeling  with  which  to  go  toward  another  world,  and  to 
go  into  it.  It  may  help  to  turn  to  valuable  account 
the  varieties  in  the  present  system  of  our  existence — 
the  facts  in  surrounding  nature — the  immediate  cir- 
cumstances of  our  own  being,  by, — promptinor,  on 
each  particular,  the  thought  and  the  question,  "  What 
corresponding  to  this, — what  in  contrariety  to  this, — 
what  instead  of  this,  may  there  be  in  that  other  world?" 
It  may  aid  to  keep  us  associated  with  those  who  are 
gone  thither.  It  may  give  new  emphasis  to  our  im- 
pression of  the  evil  of  sin,  and  the  excellence  of  all 
wisdom,  holiness,  and  piety,  by  the  thought,  '•  What 
manner  of  effect  is  this — or  this — adapted  to  result  in, 
in  that  future  state  ?" 

By  this  exercise  of  contemplative  anticipation,  we 
may  make  excellent  use  of  those  fitrures  and  emblems 
in  which  revelation  has  shadowed  out  the  future  state, 
carrying  the  thoughts  as  far  as  we  can  from  the  mere 
figure,  to  what  would  in  a  higher  sense  best  corre- 
spond to  it.    In  such  an  exercise,  the  particular  charac- 


FUTURE  MODE  OF  ElISTENCE.  235 

ter  of  the  individual's  mind,  his  taste,  his  less  or  greater 
abstraction  in  thinking,  will,  and  very  properly  may 
have  a  leading  influence.  Many  pious  minds  may 
love  to  imagine  something  very  considerably  in  anal- 
ogy with  the  present  order  of  existence, — only  greatly 
raised  and  refined,  but  never  losing  sight  of  the  par- 
allel ;  and  this  will  no  doubt  greatly  contribute  to  a 
distinctness  of  ideas;  an  analogous  order  of  senses — 
and  as  adapted  to  them,  beautiful  and  sublime  scenes — 
enchanting  music  of  sounds,  &c. 

With  others  the  wish  will  be  to  go  as  far  away  from 
resemblance  as  is  possible  without  going  into  absolute 
and  impalpable  abstraction,  into  an  unrealizable  vacu- 
ity,— and  this  we  think  is  strongly  warranted  by  what 
is  said  of  the  nature  of  the  body  which  shall  be  consti- 
tuted at  the  resurrection,  and  by  the  consideration  of 
its  immortality.  Something  widely,  immensely  differ- 
ent from  all  that  belongs  to  it  now,  is  surely  implied 
by  the  assertion  that  it  is  to  be  like  "  the  glorious  body" 
of  the  Mediator.  What  can  we  imagine  of  that  body  ? 
Very  lar,  surely,  from  any  close  analogy  with  this 
earthly  structure.  Consider  it  too,  as  capable  of  rising 
to  "  meet  the  Lord  in  the  air."  Consider  that  pointed 
contrast,  rather  than  any  parallel,  which  the  apostle 
exhibits  in  his  account  of  it,  a  body  raised  in  "  glory," 
in  "power,"  in  "incorruption," — and  to  crown  all,  a 
"spiritual"  body.  He  displays  this  body  in  lofty  tri- 
umph over  the  present  body.  The  description  gives 
the  full  impression  of  something  not  only  immensely 
difierent,  but  specifically  and  essentially  different. — 
Then  consider  the  strange,  the  mysterious  circum- 
stance of  its  immortality.  A  bodily  structure  immor- 
tal ! — adapted  to  live  ibr  ever  and  ever.  Here  we  are 
carried  away  out  of  all  conceivable  analogy,  as  by  the 
whirlwind  that  took  Elijah  away. 

In  this  its  immortality,  we  are  not  to  suppose  the 
operation  of  a  perpetual  miracle, — but  that  it  will  be 
naturally  immortal,  by  the  same  essential  law  as  the 
soul  is  so  ;  that  it  will  not  have,  either  in  its  material 
consistence  or  its  vital  organization,  any  inherent  prin- 
ciple of  decay.    But  how  confounded  is  all  intellect  or 


236  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE  OF  THE 

created  and  fixed  within  the  feeling  itself; — simply  a 
fancy,  in  the  attempt  to  conceive  of  such  a  body, — or  of 
its  senses,  parts,  or  vital  action  !  If  we  attempt  to  im- 
agine a  material  scener}^,  and  order  of  elements,  cor- 
responding in  quality  to  such  a  body,  how  lost  are  we 
again  !  Yet  such  a  representation  calls  upon  us,  not 
to  forbear  thinking  on  the  mysterious  subject, — but  to 
aim  at  thinking  sublimely. 

After  all,  and  amid  all  our  efforts  to  conceive  of  the 
mode  of  the  future  existence,  it  will  be  well  to  occupy 
our  contemplations  much  upon  the  grand  general  ele- 
ments of  the  future  felicity :  holiness — charity — wisdom 
— power — immortality — enjoyment  ol  the  divine  pres- 
ence and  benignity. 

Let  no  curiosity  of  high  speculation  beguile  us  for  a 
moment  out  of  recollection  of  the  one  mighty  differ- 
ence,— of  the  two  grand  opposites, — in  the  future  state, 
the  condition  of  the  redeemed  and  purified,  and  the  un- 
believing and  unrighteous  ! 


XXV. 

CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  PERFECTIBILITY 

OF  MAN. 

"  When  that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that 
which  is  in  part  shall  he  done  a^oay.'''' — One  of  the 
general  ideas  naturally  arising  at  the  repetition  of 
such  words  would  be,  that  Futurity  is  the  greatness 
of  man,  and  that  hereafter  is  the  grand  scene  for  the 
attainment  of  the  fulness  of  his  existence.  When  de- 
pressed and  mortified  by  a  conscious  littleness  of 
being,  yet  feeling  emotions  and  intimations  which  seem 
to  signify  that  he  should  not  be  little,  he  may  look  to 
futurity  and  exclaim,  "  /  shall  he  great  yonder  ! " 
When  feehng  how  little  belongs  to  him,  how  diminutive 
and  poor  his  sphere  of  possession  here,  he  may  say. 
"  The  immense  futurity  is  mine  !  I  may  be  content  to 
be  poor  awhile  in  the  prospect  of  that!"    If  here  ob- 


PERFECTIBILITY  OF  MAN.  237 

scure  and  even  despised,  he  may  reflect,  "  Well,  it  is 
not  here  that  I  expect  or  want  to  verify  my  import- 
ance." If  forcibly  admonished  of  the  brevity  of  life, 
the  thought  may  arise,  "  "Well,  the  sooner  my  entrance 
upon  a  life  that  shall  have  no  end." 

It  is  most  gratifying  to  see  the  divine  revelation  con- 
necting the  attribute,  the  condition  of  perfection,  on 
any  terms,  in  any  sense,  at  any  future  period,  with 
human  nature.  It  would  be  gratifying  if  this  were  but 
intimated  as  a  mere  possibility; — it  is  most  emphati- 
cally so,  to  see  it  expressed  as  an  assurance — a  promise. 
Think  of  man,  the  combination  of  all  defects  !  Let  any 
conceivable  excellence  be  named,  and  the  very  men- 
tion of  it  is,  in  effect,  a  reproach  to  him,  as  not  having 
it,  or  having  it  in  but  a  very  deficient  measure.  Who- 
ever does  possess  the  most  of  any  one  of  them,  is  deeply 
lamenting  to  perceive  how  partial,  how  miserably  little, 
the  amount  is,  compared  with  even  far  less  than  perfec- 
tion. Looking  at  man,  we  seem  to  see  a  vast  collection 
of  little  beginnings, — attempts, — failures;  like  a  planta- 
tion on  a  bleak  and  blasted  heath.  And  the  progress  in 
whatever  is  valuable  and  noble,  whether  in  individuals 
or  communities,  is  so  miserably  difficult  and  slow.  So 
that  "  the  perfectibility  of  man"  in  the  sense  in  which 
that  phrase  has  been  employed,  stands  justly  ridiculed 
as  one  of  the  follies  of  philosophic  romance.  Then 
how  delightful  it  is  to  see  revelation  itself,  pronouncing 
as  possible,  and  predicting  as  to  come,  something 
"  perfect"  in  the  condition  of  man ! 

This  prediction  of  something  "perfect"  to  come,  re- 
lates to  knowledge.  This  is  somewhat  surprising.  It 
seems  much  more  easy  to  conceive  of  perfection  in 
another  state  attained  or  conferred,  in  any  of  what  may 
be  called  the  moral  attributes,  than  inknowledge,  even 
in  any  moderate  and  comparative  sense.  For  in- 
stance ; — perfect  rectitude  of  the  actuating  principle, 
the  motives; — perfect  reverence  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing;— a  perfectspirit  of  obedience  ; — perfect  "charity;" 
or  to  say  all  in  one,  perfect  holiness.  These  are  things 
of  a  more  simple  and  absolute  nature  ; — qualities  to  be 
21 


'238  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE  OF  THE 

rectification  of  its  own  constitution  and  habitude,  which 
we  can  conceive  effected  by  a  sin^de  act  of  the  Divine 
Power.  But  knowledge  is  not  a  state  of  the  disposi- 
tions of  the  inteUigcnt  being, — not  an  intrinsic  quahty 
of  its  nature  ;  but  an  intellectual  relation  which  it  has 
with  other  things,  witli  any  thing,  with  all  things,  which 
can  come  within  the  sphere  of  its  apprehension.  The 
scope  of  this  relation  has  no  necessary  limit ; — but  is 
quite  indefinite  ;  and  may  be  amplified  through  every 
successive  period  of  duration.  All  things  in  the  stu- 
pendous totality  of  existence,  and  even  in  possibility, 
are  subjects  for  knowledge.  To  hear  then  from  the 
voice  of  divine  truth,  a  prediction  for  men,  of  perfec- 
tion in  knowledge,  in  any,  the  most  hmited,  accom- 
modated sense,  is  very  marvellous.  It  is  a  subhme 
prospect,  contemplated  under  the  most  limited  sense  of 
the  terms  which  display  it  to  us. 

Let  us  attempt,  for  a  few  moments,  to  reahze  to  our 
imagination  such  a  state  of  knowledge  as  the  Apostle's 
text  would  imply. 

The  lowest  point  we  can  take,  in  the  first  place,  is 
the  exclusion  of  error ; — or  in  other  words,  that  all 
opinion  will  be  truth.  The  intellect  must  be  perfectly 
rectified  in  its  mode  of  perception  and  action;  and  the 
objects  on  which  it  is  employed  undeceptively  present- 
ed to  it.  So  that  if  the  manner  of  apprehending  be  tn- 
tuition,  the  objects  will  be  made  clearly  self-evident. 
Or  if  there  be  an  exercise  like  reasoning,  the  evidence 
will  be  explicit,  and  the  reasoning  process  infallible  j 
so  that  every  thing  admitted  as  knowledge  shall  be 
absolutely  such.  It  could  not  but  be  in  the  heavenly 
state,  a  painful,  a  melancholy  thing,  for  the  spirit,  after 
exulting  in  the  reception  of  a  portion  of  knowledge,  to 
find  out  that  it  had  been  imposed  on  and  deluded  ; — 
to  be  beset  at  each  progressive  stage,  with  the  suspi- 
cion that  the  apparent  advance  is  perhaps  to  be  trod- 
den back  again,  as  just  so  far  wrong.  So  far  then  the 
knowledge  will  be  "perfect,"  that  nothing  delusive 
and  erroneous  will  be  included  in  what  is  taken  for 
knowledge. 

We  may  conceive  its  perfection  in  this  sense— that 


PERFECTIBILITY  OF  MAN.  '^-^'J 

it  will  be  perfectl}^  adequate  to  the  infallible  direction 
of  all  the  activities  of  the  superior  state.  Those  activi- 
ties we  may  well  believe  to  be  of  vast  extent  and  end- 
less v^ariety.  But  suppose  a  knowledge  competent  to 
them  all  ; — an  infallible  knowledge,  what  to  do,  and 
when.,  and  by  what  means  ; — a  perfect  knowledge  what 
power  the  agent  has  for  accomplishing  the  objects ;— a 
certain  foresight  of  theresuh; — a  perfect  judgment 
what  is  right,  what  is  the  best ; — a  perfect  understand- 
ing of  what  is  the  Divine  Will.  So  that  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  action  of  the  immortal  beings  shall  proceed  un- 
der a  luminous  intelligence  which  permits  no  doubt,  or 
apprehension,  or  mistake,or  fliilure. 

The  knov\7ledge  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  better  world 
will  doubtless  be  perfect  in  this  sense — that  they  will 
possess  as  much  of  it  as  is  indispensable  to  their  happi- 
ness, and  will  be  sensible  that  they  do  so.  They  will 
not  feel  that  some  of  the  essential  means  of  their  felici- 
ty are  concealed  in  the  shade  v/hich  lies  beyond  the 
great  and  illuminated  field  of  their  vision.  They  will 
not  be  in  the  condition  of  the  apostle  John,  who  looked 
on  the  sealed  book,  and  "wept"  because  there  was 
none  to  open  it.  On  the  contrary,  each  one  will  be 
able  to  say,  '•  I  am  happy  in  this  liyht, — happy,  till  the 
Father  of  li^h^s  shall  see  good  to  make  me  still  more 
so,  by  opening  to  me  another  book  yet  sealed — to  ex- 
pand still  further  this  wide  and  glorious  vision." 

These  happy  beings  will  possess  always  as  much 
knowledge,  as  lor  the  time  their  faculties  are  actually 
capable  of  admitting — there  will  be  "  no  craving  void." 
So  that,  as  to  what  they  cannot  then  know,  it  will  not 
be  that  it  is  arbitrarily  withheld — causing  them  to  say, 
'•If  it  were  but  told  me — if  it  were  but  disclosed,  I 
could  understand  it."  This  is  our  case  here, — there 
doubtless  are  a  vast  number  of  things  kept  in  the  dark 
from  us,  which  we  could  understand  if  they  were  but 
declared  ;  and  there  is  sometimes  a  most  restless  wish 
to  know  them.  That  knowledge  may  be  called  perfect, 
which  shall  be  so,  relatively  to  the  capacity  of  the  intel- 
ligent being.  Imagine  this,  and  then  imagine  a  con- 
tinual sensible  enlargement  of  the  capacity  itself,  and 


240  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE  OF  THE 

as  it  enlarges,  a  continual  influx  of  new  knowledge  to 
fill  it! 

We  ehould  take  some  advantage  of  the  apostle's 
mode  ofillustrating,  by  a  contrast  between  "that  which 
is  in  part,"  and  that  "  perfect "  which  is  to  come. 

We  may  advert  to  the  imperfect,  partial  nature  of 
our  means  of  knowledge.  It  is  a  mysterious  thing  in 
the  all-wise  Creator's  economy,  that  intellectual  be- 
ings, spirits^  should  be  inclosed  in  gross  matter,  and 
made  dependent  for  their  action  on  its  organization. 
The  senses  contained  in  this  material  frame,  the  grand 
inlets  of  our  knowledge,  must  and  do  convey  it  in  a 
most  imperfect  manner.  These,  while  they  are  the 
medium  of  knowledge,  yet  keep  up  an  insuperable 
separation  between  the  mind,  the  spirit,  and  the  objects 
desired  to  be  known.  Through  them  it  can  receive 
only  reports  and  images  of  the  things.  It  cannot  itself 
come  at  the  things  themselves.  How  it  wishes  some- 
times that  it  could  !  It  longs  to  know  what  things  are 
in  their  own  reality. 

Language  again  is  a  most  imperfect  medium  for  the 
conveyance  of  knowledge  ; — it  is  mAeeA.  framed  upon 
our  imperfect  knowledge,  and  partaking  of  all  its  de- 
fects. It  is  contrived  by  men  to  express  what  they 
very  imperfectly  conceive  and  know,  and  is  full  of  in- 
distinctness, uncertainty,  perplexity,  confusion.  But 
'•when  that  which  is  perfect  is  come  I" — it  may  be  said, 
"  What  then  ?  What  will  then  be  the  mode,  the  medi- 
um, the  instruments  of  our  receiving  and  conveying 
knowledge  ?"  We  cannot  even  conjecture,  till  it  do 
come. — but  it  must  be  something  immensely  different, 
whether  or  not  in  analogy  with  the  present  means. 

One  almost  dislikes  to  suppose,  in  that  more  perfect 
slate,  even  a  resemblance  to  such  feeble  things  as 
hearing,  seeing,  feeling,  language.  But  the  sove- 
reign and  beneficent  Creator,  in  forming  his  creature 
anew  in  a  far  nobler  condition,  will  infallibly  do  it  for 
the  best — and  if  there  be  to  be  senses,  and  any  arti- 
ficial instruments,  of  knowledge  analogous  to  the 
present,  let  them  be  but  as  much  superior  to  these  as  a 
"  spiritual    body,"  made  like  the  glorified  body  of 


PERFECTIBILITY  OF  MAN.  241 

Christ,  will  be  superior  to  this  "  earthy,"  mortal  one. 
and  it  will  suffice. 

But  whatever  shall  be  the  means  and  manner  of  ap- 
prehending.— ihe  apprehension  must  be  incomparably 
more  immediate  and  intimate  than  in  this  world,  to 
satisfy  the  exalted  intelligence.  That  there  will  be 
this  pervading  intelligence,  this  intimacy  of  know- 
ledge, seems  to  be  implied  by  what  the  apostle  says, 
"  I  shall  know  even  as  also  I  am  known,"  that  is,  by  the 
divine  Spirit.  So  "  when  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be 
done  away,  and  that  which  is  perfect  is  come."  the 
manner  of  knowing  shall  be  an  entire,  a  complete 
one,  as  to  the  means  and  instrumenls. — Here  note^the 
imperfection  of  the  other  great  mean  of  knowledge, 
reasoning. 

How  emphatically  our  present  knowledge  is  but 
"  in  part,"  if  we  advert  to  the  number  and  extent  of  the 
things  to  be  known.  It  is  but  a  diminutive  portion  of 
the  grand  whole  of  things,  that  we  can  even  be  so  ap- 
prised of  as  to  be  aware  that  we  are  ignorant  of  them. 
We  can  think  no  question  at  all  about  them.  But 
take  even  so  much  as  we  are  apprised  of  enough  to 
make  subjects  of  inquiry;  and  just  ihink,  how  many 
can  be  answered  of  all  the  questions  we  can  ask?  To 
a  vast  proportion  of  them,  there  is  no  possible  answer 
at  all.  To  a  great  majority  of  the  rest,  that  do  not 
go  entirely  beyond  our  sphere,  the  answer  is  extremely 
doubtful.  As  to  the  comparatively  few  that  we  seem 
to  think  we  can  reply  to,  we  find,  when  we  try,  that 
the  answer  is  that  of  but  a  very  partial  knowledge. 

"When  that  which  is  perf^-ct  is  come,"  it  will  not 
bring  an  answer  to  all  possible  inquiries  ; — that  were 
to  extend  our  knowledge  beyond  an  archangel's  com- 
pass; but  it  may  well  be  believed  that  it  will  be  amaz- 
ing and  delightful  to  see  what  a  multitude  of  things, 
of  which  w^e  had  but  the  faintest  glimpses  beibre,  are 
brought  into  perfect  manifestation.  What  a  revela- 
tion there  may  be  in  two  senses; — in  the  vast  enlarge- 
ment of  the  mind's  own  proper  pou-er  of  knowing, 
while  it  looks  from  a  higher  eminence  over  a  wider 
21* 


242  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE  OF  THE 

field  ; — and  in  the  direct  disclosures  and  communica- 
tions which  the  Divine  Being  may  beneficently  make. 
His  present  revelation  is  the  greatest  blessing  confer- 
red on  human  intelligence  on  earth.  But  how  obvi- 
ously that  is  but  "  in  part."  How  many  things  are 
not  mentioned  ! — how  many  with  but  a  particle  of  in- 
formation ! — some  are  presented  with  an  obscure  and 
half-revealed  aspect,  like  the  moon  sometimes  seen 
with  a  narrow  line  of  light,  and  the  disc  opaque  and 
dimly  perceptible.  It  would  not  be  a  wild  imagina- 
tion, that  then  there  will  be  a  still  further  new  revela- 
tion, strictly  such,  to  impart  information  of  what  will 
still.be  beyond  the  sphere  of  knowledge  by  any  other 
means — and  that  also  to  become  ultimately  an  imme- 
diate knowledge  ;  and  then  a  still  further  and  further 
rev^elation ;  and  so  forward,  interminably  and  for  ever  ! 

But  all  these  anticipations  remind  us  but  the  more 
forcibly,  how  we  here  "  know  but  in  part."  So  "  in 
part,"  that  just  the  part,  the  portion  which  we  want  to 
attain,  is  divided  off  from  our  reach.  It  seems  as  if  a 
dissevering  principle,  or  a  dark  veil,  fell  down  exactly 
at  the  point  where  we  think  we  are  near  upon  the 
knowledge  we  are  pursuing.  We  reach  the  essen- 
tial question  of  the  inquiry ; — let  that  be  surpassed  and 
we  should  arrive  at  the  truth — exult  in  the  knowledge. 
But  just  there  we  are  stopped  by  something  insuper- 
able ;  and  there  we  stand,  like  prisoners  looking  at 
their  impregnable  wall. 

So  "  in  part"  our  knowledge  is,  that  an  exceeding 
weight,  we  sometimes  feel  as  if  a  disproportionate  one, 
is  thrown  upon  our  faith.  We  cannot  understand  the 
case,  and  yet  we  must  approvingly  submit  to  Him 
who  is  the  Master  of  all  things ;  and  our  obedience 
must  be  as  ready  and  unreserved  as  if  we  could. 
But  this  is  a  hard  exercise  for  faith.  In  our  partial 
view,  appearances  may  seem  against  what  we  never- 
theless are  required  most  firmly  to  believe.  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  maintain  this  faith,  but  is  happily  aided  by  the 
divine  assurance,  that  one  day  we  shall  know  ''when 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come." 


PERFECTIBILITY  OF  MAN.  243 

So  "  in  pan"  our  knowledge  is,  that  in  many  things 
we  see  lar  more  of  the  evil  than  of  the  good,  in  the 
whole  state  of  things,  as  far  as  within  our  comprehen- 
sion. But  we  are  sure  that  on  the  great  view,  to 
which  we  cannot  yet  attain,  there  must  be  a  decided 
predominance  of  good,  in  the  empire  of  Him  who  is 
infinite  in  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness.  The  antici- 
pation of  clearly  seeing  it  so,  is  a  delightful  radiance 
from  heaven  on  our  present  dark  abode. 

So  "in  part,"  our  knowledge  is,  that  we  cannot 
agree  one  with  another.  The  "  part"  itself  is  not 
clear,  bright,  and  infallible,  as  far  as  it  goes.  It  con- 
tains those  shades,  perplexities,  and  equivocal  appear- 
ances, among  which  men  must  greatly  difl'er.  It 
would  have  been  a  fine  thing  if  good  men,  and  wise 
men,  could  have  been  unanimous  on  to  the  limited  ex- 
tent of  this  early  stage  and  immaturity  of  our  know- 
ledge, and  had  not  filled  the  twilight  of  the  great  ap- 
proaching day  of  wisdom  with  their  controversies  and 
their  quarrels.  But  when  the  "perfect  comes,"  the 
grand  illumination  of  each  spirit  will  be  rendered  in- 
conceivably more  delightful  by  the  coincidence  of  judg- 
ment which  will  create  a  happy  sympathy  and  harmo- 
ny of  the  affections. 

These  general  ideas  might  be  illustrated  in  appli- 
cation to  our  imperfect  knowledge  of  even  our  own 
nature,  as  in  the  essential  principle  of  life; — the  mys- 
terious connexion  of  the  soul  with  the  body  ; — the  na- 
ture and  operations  of  that  soul  itself  How  striking 
to  reflect,  that  we  can  as  yet  just  as  much  comprehend 
the  whole  universe  as  our  own  liitle  selves,  our  own 
selves  who  are  thinking  and  talking  on  these  subjects. 
These  ideas  might  also  be  viewed  in  their  application 
to  the  theory  of  the  condition  and  destination  of  our 
race; — the  system  of  divine  Providence; — the  doc- 
trines of  religion ; — the  manner  of  our  future  exist- 
ence ;— the  inquiry,  what  rational  beings,  and  under 
what  economy,  in  other  realms  of  the  universe  ;  and 
the  universe  itself 

After  such  views  contemplatedj  think  of  the  pride 


244  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE,  ETC. 

ofpresent  knowledge!  with  a  little  glimmering  on 
their  spirits,  there  are  men  that  walk  the  earth  wiih  an 
elation  as  if  they  should  be  gods  ; — and  destitute  too, 
as  this  very  pride  would  show,  of  that  which  is  the 
best  of  the  knowledge  attainable  here  ! 

Consider  what  a  high  advantage  over  us  is  now  at- 
tained by  our  pious  friends  that  are  gone — even  in  that 
less  perfect  state  which  intervenes  between  the  de- 
parture hence  and  the  resurrection! 

"  Then  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be  done  away." 
Imagine  the  emerging  from  this  dark  world  into  light ! 
what  a  dismissal  from  our  spirits,  what  a  vanishing 
away  of  the  whole  systems  of  our  little  notions,  our 
-childish  conceptions!  If  they  will  be  sufficiently  re- 
collected to  be  compared  with  the  grand  manifestation 
of  truth  and  reality  then  unveiled,  what  a  contrast! 
Yet  there  will  not  be  an  entire  contempt  thrown  upon 
the  retrospect  ;  for  it  will  be  understood  how  those 
little  notions,  that  feeble  light,  that  partial  revelation, 
were  the  right  training  for  the  infancy  and  childhood 
of  the  human  soul. 

Let  us  then  be  thankful  that  we  do  know,  though 
but  in  part,  and  earnestly  apply  and  improve  what  we 
are  permitted  to  know.  Let  us  be  thankful,  too,  that 
one  point  of  that  very  knowledge  is,  that  its  imperfec- 
tion will  be  left  behind. 

If  there  will  be,  as  none  can  doubt,  in  the  heavenly 
state,  different  degrees  in  the  felicity  of  the  redeemed 
spirits,  and  if  knowledge  will  be  one  great  mean  of 
felicity  there,  xoho  may  be  expected  to  possess  the  high- 
est attainments  of  it  ?  Not  necessarily  those,  even 
good  men,  who  possessed  the  most  of  it  here,  but  rath- 
er those  who  have  excelled  the  most  in  piety^ — in  de- 
votion to  God  and  Christ,  and  the  cause  of  heaven  in 
this  world.  God  crm,  by  one  great  act  of  his  reward- 
ing power,  make  them  the  highest  in  intelligence,  and 
it  is  reasonable  to  believe  that  he  ?r«7/. 


XXVI. 

END  OF  THE  YEAR. 

'■  We  spend  our  years  as  a  tale  that  is  told" — The 
ninetieth  psalm  being  ascribed  to  Moses,  its  pensive 
strain  may  be  deemed  to  have  a  particular  reference 
to  the  condition  of  the  Israelites  in  the  sojourn  in  the 
wilderness,  under  the  doom  of  consuming  away  their 
lives  there.  Nevertheless,  this  pensive  strain  is  in 
harmony  with  the  sentiments  ofthe  most  thoughtful  per- 
sons ever  since.  No  part  of  the  ancient  scriptures  is 
less  obsolete  than  this.  It  is  a  picture  still  true  to  na- 
ture. Human  life,  viewed  generally,  has  not  since 
brightened  up  into  a  scene  ol  joy  and  trium.ph.  The 
brief  description  of  the  state  in  paradise  belongs  to  a 
departed  and  remote  economy  ;  and  that  given  in  this 
psalm  is  instantly  felt  to  be  appropriate  to  the  present 
condition  of  man.  This  representation  applies  itself 
and  fastens  close  upon  the  real  subject.  The  beautiful 
and  splendid  images  brought  from  the  beginning  of 
our  history,  or  shaped  since  by  fine  imagination, 
stand  off  into  the  air,  from  the  reality  ;  a  fair  vision, 
but  no  more  attached  to  the  actual  substance  than 
the  beautitul  clouds  or  the  rainbow  will  descend  or 
permanently  rest  on  the  surface  ofthe  ground. 

One  circumstance  ofthe  description  is,—"  We  spend 
our  years  as  a  tale  that  is  told."  This  seems  to  ex- 
press both  a  necessary  fact,  and  a  censure.  The 
rapid  consumption  of  our  years, — their  speedy  pass- 
ing away,  is  inevitable.  But  they  may  be  spent  also 
in  a  trifling  manner,  to  little  valuable  purpose,  which 
would  complete  the  disconsolate  reflection  on  them,  by 
the  addition  of  guilt  and  censure. 

We  have  been  consuming  our  years;  we  have  very 
nearly  expended  another; — think  how  nearly  it  is 
gone  from  us  !  Yonder  as  it  were  behind  is  the  long 
lapse  of  it.  As  if  we  stood  by  a  stream  bearing  va- 
rious things  upon  it  away.  We  can  look  back  to  its 
successive  times  and  incidents,  as  what  we  were  pres- 
ent to.    But  Omnipotence  cannot  take  us  back  to  meet 


246  END   OF  THE   YEAR. 

again  its  commencement,  or  any  portion  or  circum- 
stance of  it.  We  are  present  now  to  one  of  its  latest 
diminutive  portions,  which  Omnipotence  cannot  with- 
hold from  following  the  departed.  We  are  occupying 
it,  breathing  in  it,  thinking  in  it,  for  nearly  the  last 
time  ;  little  more  of  it  is  remaining  than  time  enough 
for  bidding  it  a  solemn  and  reflective  farewell !  A 
few  hours  more,  and  the  year  can  never  be  of  the 
smallest  further  use  to  us,  except  in  the  way  of  re- 
Jlection.  It  is  a  serious  thing  to  say  that  of  any  val- 
uable thing  included  in  our  portion  on  earth  ; — a  thing 
that  antecedently  was  of  great  direct  value, — value 
for  actual  use, — now  of  none  but  for  thought.  For 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  the  possible  good 
from  a  valuable  thing  in  possession,  or  that  is  to  be  in 
possession, — and  the  good  that  afterwards  might  be 
gained  by  merely  thinking  of  it  when  it  is  gone.  Sup- 
pose the  case  of  a  considerable  amount  of  property 
that  wa^  possessed,  or  in  a  man's  power,  but  is  so  no 
longer, — spent, — perhaps  Avasted  or  lost.  Now,  a 
man  who  can  think  wisely  may  derive  some  good  from 
it  even  after  it  is  gone.  But  how  different  his  situa- 
tion from  that  o'i  having  it  in  his  power,  and  with  wis- 
dom to  use  it  well.  So  in  the  case  of  having  lost  by 
death,  a  highly  valuable  and  useful  friend.  Apply 
this  to  our  case  with  respect  to  the  departed  year. 

In  having  had  this  whole  year,  w^e  have  had  more 
of  valuable  time,  than  we  had  any  right,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  it,  to  assure  ourselves  of  AlUhat  we  could  say 
the  beginning  was — "  Such  and  such  things  may  be 
effected  for  ourselves — for  others. — for  God. — if  our 
lives  are  prolonged."  But  we  did  not  know  that  we 
should  have  so  much  riches  of  time  to  spend.  The 
event  has  proved  that  we  were  to  have  the  whole  year, 
with  all  those  possibilities  of  good. 

We  may  yet  gain  some  good  from  the  past  year, 
by  wise  reflection.  But  there  is  a  vast  difference  be- 
tween the  measure  of  any  good  that  can  now  so  be 
gained, — and  the  measure  of  that  good  which  was 
possible  to  be  gained  during  the  possessions  and  ex- 
penditure of  the  year.    Place  yourselves  in  thought 


END  OF  THE  YEAR.  247 

back  at  the  beginning  of  it,  and  remember  that  there 
you  actually  did  stand, — that  it  was  no  imaginary 
point  of  history.  Then  you  might,  say,  "  What  is 
possible  to  me  in  the  whole  length  of  this  commenc- 
ing year,  if  the  Divine  Will  shall  prolong  my  life 
throughout  it,  in  moderate  health  ? — what  is  pos^sible 
in  a  space  of  nearly  four  hundred  days  ?  My  ordi- 
nary worldly  business  and  cares  absolutely  must  fill  a 
main  share  of  the  time.  But  even  in  this^  by  aid  irom 
above,  there  may  be  perhaps  a  purer  conscience  main- 
tained, and  a  more  habitual  sense  of  the  divine  pres- 
ence. There  may  be,  in  almost  four  hundred  days,  a 
vast  number  of — most  serious  thoughts — pointed  re- 
flections of  self-examination,  and  self-judgment, — dis- 
tinct references  to  God  and  eternity,— earnest  desires 
after  an  assured  and  unquestionable  interest  in  Jesus 
Christ, — petitions  deliberately  conceived  and  aiklress- 
ed  to  the  Almighty, — efforts  at  a  clearer  apprehension 
of  divine  truth, — efforts  to  recall  and  reapply  import- 
ant admonitions, — efforts  for  practical  sell-correction. 
— efforts  to  make  something  that  we  think,  or  that  we 
can  do,  useful  to  fellow-mortals."  Compute  now  the 
sum  of  all  these  invaluable  things, — if  effected,  what  a 
happy  enrichment  of  our  spirits  and  our  life  !  What 
a  value  at  the  time,  and  forward  through  life,  and  into 
eternity !  Now  when  the  year  began,  all  this  was 
possible.  The  coming  year  contained  all  these  possi- 
bilities ;  like  a  mine  in  which  it  is  certain  there  is  a 
mass  of  precious  treasure,  which  may  be  dug  for,  and 
will  be  found,  if  the  labour  is  applied;  like  a  field  of 
great  and  certain  fertility.  The  circumstance  that 
we  were  not  sure  of  the  whole  year,  made  only  this 
difference,  that  the  duty  was  siill  the  more  urgent  to 
improve  it,  part  by  part,  as  it  might  be  given  to  us. 
Why  should  not  all  this  that  was  possible,  have  been 
reahzed  ?  Reflections  on  the  then  past  year  enforced 
an  earnest  endeavour,  regret,  and  perhaps  remorse 
came  in  to  reinforce  it.  Time  was  evidently  acquir- 
ing an  aggravated  value  and  iinportance  in  our  hands 
by  diminution.     We  had  perhaps  known  of  unhappy 


248 


END  OF  THE  YEAR. 


instances  of  that  being  the  last  year  to  persons  who 
had  lailed  of  making  the  wisest  use  of  their  former 
ones.  There  were  perhaps  brouglit  to  our  view,  the 
most  grave  and  forcible  considerations  applicable  to 
the  case,  and  corresponding  resolutions  were  most  de- 
liberately formed.  Then,  if  we  have  failed  greatly, 
WHY  have  we  failed  ?  It  were  desirable  the  cause 
should  be  well  understood. 

One  of  the  points,  if  there  was  a  neglect  of  that^ 
may  account  for  a  failure  in  all  the  rest; — constant 
earnest  petitioning  for  divine  influence  and  assistance. 
For  the  instruction  supplied  by  all  our  years  has  been 
to  little  purpose,  if  we  are  not  become  fully  aware  of 
one  plain  fact,  that  which  was  expressed  in  our  Lord's 
sentence — "  Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  In 
other  words,  that  it  is  only  through  the  medium  of 
God  that  we  can  effectually  attempt  any  of  the  most 
important  things,  because  we  have  a  nature  that  is 
unadapted  to  them — repugnant  to  them, — revolts 
from  them.  Recollect  such  things  as  we  were  nam- 
ing as  what  might  have  been  in  the  past  year.  Could 
the  impulse  of  these  intentions, — these  aims, — these 
attempts,  be  effective  by  the  mere  force  of  the  boiU 
itself?  No,  the  case  would  be  like  that  of  the  man 
who  stretched  out  his  hand  to  a  sacred  object,  "and 
behold  it  was  withered !"  Or  as  if  some  implement 
requiring  to  be  kept  in  a  high  temperature  for  some 
critical  operation,  were  held  forth  to  be  applied,  but 
became  frozen  in  this  winter  atmosphere.  But  it  is 
from  the  heart  that  the  frost  proceeds  !  O  !  that  fatal 
source  and  cause  of  disability  and  failure  !  It  is  there- 
fore only  through  an  agency,  and,  shall  we  say,  an 
element  of  divinity,  pervading  and  surrounding  us, 
that  we  can  reach  forth  with  an  effectual  effort. 
Therefore,  if  during  the  past  year  we  failed  in  the  es- 
sential point  of  imploring  that  Divine  Spirit  to  ani- 
mate us, — well  might  we  fail  in  the  rest ! 

But  we  will  not  assume  so  gloomy  a  fact  as  that 
the  case  has  been  wholly  thus.  It  is  the  concern  of 
each   one's   conscience ;  but  we   will  hope  that  in 


END  OF  THE  YEAR.  249 

more  than  a  few  instances,  some  ^ood  measure  has 
been  effected  of  what  was  the  grand  purpose  for 
w^hich  the  departed  year  was  given.  Whoever  be 
the  persons  of  whom  this  is  true  in  the  greatest  de- 
gree, they  are  the  happiest  that  the  year  has  left  aHve, 
— supremely  happ)^  in  this,  that  they  do  not  need  the 
year  that  is  coming  on.  How  happy  I  as  compared 
with  what  the  thoughtless  or  the  worldly  may  envy 
the  most.  There  are  men  who  have  within  the  past 
year  come  into  possession  of  great  wealth.  They 
will  want  another  year  !  Ask  them  whether  it  be  so 
or  not?  There  are  men  who  have  brought  a  great 
worldly  scheme  to  a  point  of  signal  success  ;  w^ho  have 
come  back  in  safety  and  triumph  from  a  long  and 
hazardous  adventure.  There  are  men  who  have 
reached  the  arduous  summit  of  intellectual  attainment 
and  honour.  But  show  us  the  man  for  whom,  as  a 
Christian^  ^{\\G  past  .year  has  done  the  most!  and 
then,  if  he  might  take  all  these  fine  things  instead^ — 
let  a  sober  voice,  let  any  voice  say,  whether  he  should  I 
if  he  could  and  did,  what  should  he  do  with  them,  if 
Avithin  a  few  months  hence  he  were  summoned  to  die  ? 
and  then  whatshould  he  dowithout  the  things  he  would 
have  surrendered  in  exchange  ? 

But  however  the  case  has  really  been  with  us,  we 
return  to  the  observation,  that  the  year  has  now  gone 
beyond  our  making  any  advantage  of  it,  except  in  the 
way  of  reflection.  It  is  like  a  seed-time  gone,  and  the 
tract  of  ground  sunk  under  the  sea.  It  is  as  a  trea- 
sure-house burnt;  but  of  which,  nevertheless,  we 
may  find  some  little  of  the  gold  melted  into  a  differ- 
ent form  in  the  ashes,  Let  us  then,  in  parting  with 
the  year,  try  to  gain  from  it  the  last  and  only  thing  it 
can  give  us, — some  profit  by  means  of  our  thoughts 
reaching  back  to  what  is  gone.  Each  serious  mind 
will  have  its  own  kind  of  reflections. 

Sentiments  of  a  grateful  kind  should  be  among  the 

first  to  arise  in  every  one's  meditation  on  the  past 

year.     It  should  be  so  if  the  fact  be,  that  in  the  whole 

year  there  has  not  been  an  hour — a  moment,  in  which 

22 


•250  END  OF  THE  YEAR. 

we  did  not  owe  gratitude.  What  then  must  be  the 
gum  ?  There  has  been  an  exercise  in  the  most  per- 
fect sense,  incessant^  of  a  beneficent  Providence, 
maintained,  while  an  infinity  of  things  have  been  in 
operation,  and  among  them  a  legion  of  evils.  Think 
a  moment  what  might  have  been !  A  tremendous 
vision  of  possible  evils  arises  at  the  thought !  Think, 
too,  what  can  we  say  that  we  could  claim  by  desert 
from  the  righteous  Governor  of  the  world!  Then 
think  where  we  are  left,  in  point  of  obligation,  at  the 
close  of  the  year !  and  whether  we  are  lit  to  enter  on 
another  year  without  gratitude  !  If  we  have  no  right 
estimate  and  feeling  for  the  past  mercies  of  God,  how 
are  we  to  receive  present  and  future  ones  with  a  right 
feeling  ?  For  future  duty  we  shall  want  to  have  mo- 
tives ;  think,  if  all  the  force  that  should  be  motive 
could  be  drawn  in  the  form  of  gratitude,  from  one 
year's  mercies  of  God,  and  as  it  were  converged  to  a 
point,  what  a  potent  motive  that  would  be  !  We 
have  to  look  back  over  the  year  to  collect  this  force — 
and  not  to  do  so,  is  to  forego  one  of  the  benefits  which 
might  be  derived  from  it  even  after  it  is  gone. 

Our  last  year  has  been  added  to  an  irrevocable  ac- 
count. It  has  passed  into  the  record  of  heaven, — into 
the  memory  of  God  !  The  seal  of  eternity  has  been 
put  upon  it ;  so  that  it  stands  irreversible  for  ever  ; — 
stands  an  unalterable  portion  of  our  everlasting  exist- 
ence. The  awful  force  of  this  consideration  comes 
pecuharly  upon  the  moments  and  feelings  when  we 
could  wish  some  parts  of  it  altered.  Think  with  what 
force  it  would  come  if  it  were  under  a  mere  economy 
of  divine  jMs^ice.  But  then,  what  a  glorious  appoint- 
ment of  the  divine  mercy  is  that  which  can  reverse  the 
effect — the  actual  consequence,  of  the  guilty  por- 
tion of  the  past  year; — reverse  it  as  to  the  appro- 
priate and  deserved  retribution.  But  this  doctrine  of 
mercy  must  not  be  abused,  and  therefore, — another 
thing  in  our  review  of  the  past  year  should  be  to  ob- 
serve what  there  has  been  in  it  which  ought  not  to  be 
in  another.  Let  a  careful  and  even  severe  account  be 
taken  of  those  things ;  and  then  say  whether  it  be  not 


END  OF  THE  YEAR.  251 

enough  that  the  past  year  bears  on  its  character  sucli 
things  for  ever.  Let  them  be  strongly  marked  as 
what  ought  not  to  pass  the  dividing  Hne  between  this 
year  and  the  next ;  and  let  them  be  earnestly  opposed 
when  they  shall  come  to  do  so.  Would  that  an  angel, 
as  with  a  flaming  sword,  might  stand  on  the  border  to 
repel  them  !     The  Almighty  Spirit  can  do  this  for  us. 

What  w^ould  have  been  our  situation,  if  the  whole  of 
the  year  had  not  been  given  us  ?  Would  less  have 
sufficed  us  as  to  the  supreme  purpose  of  life  ?  Can 
we  go  back  in  thought,  to  points  and  periods  of  it  and 
say, — there,  in  its  earlier  months, — or  there,  at  the 
middle,  our  time  might  have  closed,  and  all  would 
have  been  well?  or  ii^  near  the  end.  or  yesterday,  or 
to-day,  our  time  had  closed,  all  had  been  well?  But 
if  there  be  not  ground  for  a  humble  confidence  that  all 
would  have  been  well,  the  year  closes  ill.  Can  there 
be  a  mightier  admonition  for  the  commencement  of 
another  year  ? 

Our  year  has  been  parallel  to  that  of  those  persons 
who  have  made  the  noblest  use  of  it.  We  can  repre- 
sent to  ourselves  the  course  of  the  most  devoted  ser- 
vants of  God  through  this  past  year,  in  various  states, 
and  modes  of  employment.  Now  ice  had  just  the  same 
hours,  days,  and  months,  as  they.  Let  the  comparison 
be  made.  Why  was  the  day,  the  w^eek,  the  month,  of 
less  value  in  our  hands  than  in  theirs  ?  Do  we  stand 
for  ever  dissociated  from  them  upon  this  year?  Hov/ 
desirable  that  we  maybe  associated  with  them  during 
the  next,  if  God  prolong  our  life  I 

Our  further  experience  of  mortal  life,  and  the  world. 
We  have  seen  it, — tried  it, — judged  it,  thus  much 
longer.  Has  the  estimate  brightened  upon  us  by  ex- 
perience ?  Have  we  obtained  a  practical  refutation 
of  the  sacred  oracles  that  have  pronounced  "  Vanity-- 
upon  it?  Now  the  results  of  experience  should  really 
stand  for  something  in  our  views  of  this  mortal  state, — 
and  in  the  degree  of  our  attachment  to  it.  Besides, 
what  should  be  the  effect  of  this  further  knowledge  of 
the  nature  and  quality  of  this  mortal  state  ?  There 
should  be  some  effect  from  the  mere  circumstance  cf 


'252  END  OF  THE  YEAR. 

one  year's  diminution  of  our  occupancy  of  this  state. 
Our  interest  upon  it  is  contracted  to  so  much  narrower 
a  breadth.  At  first  we  may  be  said  to  have  had  vital 
ties  to  the  whole  extent  of  this  mortal  Hfe ;— an  inter- 
est in  each  portion  of  it  as  it  was  coming  to  be  ours. 
We  held  to  life  by  each  year  of  the  whole  allotment. 
But  each  year  withdrawn  cut  that  tie,  like  the  cutting 
in  succession  of  each  of  the  spreading  roots  of  a  tree. 
The  consumption  of  this  last  year  has  cut  away  ano- 
ther of  these  holds  on  life,  these  ties  of  connexion  and 
interest.  Now  there  should  in  spirit  and  feeling  be  a 
degree  of  detachment  in  proportion. 

Fn  whatever  way  we  consider  the  subtraction  of  one 
year  from  our  whole  allotment,  it  is  an  important  cir- 
cumstance. It  reduces  to  a  narrower  space  the  un- 
certainty of  life's  continuance.  At  the  beginning  we 
mio-ht,  for  any  thing  that  could  be  known,  live  bufone 
or  "a  few  years ; — yet  we  might  live  fifty,  sixty,  or 
seventy  years.  But  now,  as  to  many  of  us,  there  is  no 
such  wude  range  of  life.  It  brings  us  nearer  to  see 
what  we  are  likely  to  be  at  the  end  and  after  the  end  \ 
It  has  increased  the  religious  danger,  if  there  be 
danger.  It  tells  us  of  too  much  that  now  can  never  be 
done.  It  has  added  very  greatly  to  the  weight  of 
every  consideration  that  ought  to  impel  us  to  make  the 
utmost  of  what  may  remain. 

j  The  year  departed  may  admonish  us  of  the  strange 
'  deceptive ness.  the  stealthiness  of  the  flight  of  time. 
There  have  been  a  prodigious  number  of  minutes  and 
hours  to  look  forward  to,  and  each  hour  at  the  time 
did  not  seem  to  go  so  wonderfully  fast;  and  yet  how 
short  a  while  they  now  seem  to  have  been,  in  all  van- 
ishing away  I  It  wnll  be  so  in  what  is  to  come.  Each 
day  will  beguile  us  with  this  deception,  if  we  are  not 
vigilant ;  and  will  leave  us,  still  to  be  done,  that  which 
it  should  have  done.  Therefore  every  period  and  por- 
tion of  it,— the  ensuing  year,  and  each  part  of  it,— 
should  be  entered  on  with  emphatically  imploring  our 
God  to  save  us  from  spending  it  in  vain ! 

THE   END. 


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IN   THE   VARIOUS  DEPARTMENTS 

OF 

pitman  mnotoletrse^ 

PUBLISHED    BY 

D.  APPL.ETON  &  CO.,  NEir-YORK, 

AND 

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HISTORY    OF    THE     REFORMATION 

OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  By  Gilbert  Burnet, 
D.D.,  late  Bishopof  Salisbury.  With  a  collection  of  Records, 
and  a  copious  Index,  revised  and  corrected,  with  additional 
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overthrow,  in  one  of  its  strongest  holds,  of  the  Roman  power,  and  gave  aa 
impulse  to  tiie  human  mind,  tlie  full  results  of  which  are  even  now  but 
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religion,  had  its  birth-hour  then  ;  and  witnout  a  familiar  acquaintance  with 
all  its  principal  events,  but  little  progress  can  be  made  in  understanding 
the  nature  and  ultimate  tendencies  of  the  revolution  then  effected 

The  History  of  Bishop  Burnet  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  and  by  far 
fhe  most  frequently  quoted  of  any  that  has  been  written  of  this  great  event. 
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debtedness  for  important  aid  to  Lloyd,  Tillotson  and  Stillingfleet, 
three  of  the  greatest  of  England's  Bishops.  "  I  know,"  says  lie,  in  his  Pre- 
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tliis  woik,  than  to  say  that  it  passed  with  their  hearty  approbation,  after 
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cerned  in  it,  and  their  goodness  to  the  author  and  freedom  with  him,  obliged 
tiiem  to  use.'-' 

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which  the  author  fell,  and  to  bav-e  made  such  improvements  in  the  order  of 
the  work  as  will  render  it  far  more  useful  to  the  reader  or  historical  student. 
PreLmir.ary  explanations,  full  and  sufficient  to  the  clear  understanding  of 
the  author,  are  given,  and  marginal  references  are  made  throughout  the 
book,  so  as  greatly  to  facilitate  and  render  accurate  its  consultation.  The 
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Volumes  already  Published,  uniform  in  style.     Price  37  1-2  cents,  each. 

I.— ADVENTURES  OF  HENRY  HUDSON. 

By  the  author  of  "  Uncle  Philip's  Conversations." 
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The  Founder  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia.     By  the  author 

of  *"'  Uncle  Philip's  Conversations." 

It  will  be  read  by  youth  with  all  the  interest  of  a  novel,  and  cer- 
tainly with  much  more  profit.— iS''.  Y.  American. 

III.— D AWNINGS  OF  GENIUS; 

Or,  the  Early  Lives  of  some  Eminent  Persons  of  the  last 

Centurj'.     By  Anne  Pratt. 

Contents.— Sir  Kumplirey  Davy— Rev.  George  Crabbe— Baroa 
Cuvier — Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — Lindley  Murray — Sir  James  Macin 
tosh — Dr.  Adam  Clarke.  „ 

IV.— ADVENTURES  OF  HERNAN  CORTES, 

The  Conqueror  of  Mexico.     By  the  author  of  "  Uncle 

Philip's  Conversations." 

The  story  is  full  of  interest,  and  is  told  in  a  captivating  style. 
Such  books  add  all  the  charms  of  Romance  to  the  value  of  his- 
tory.— Prov.  Journal. 

v.— ADVENTURES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE, 

'  The   Kentucky   Rifleman.     By   the  author   of  "  Uncle 
Philip's  Conversations." 

It  is  an  excellent  narrative,  written  in  a  plain,  familiar  style,  and 
sets  forth  the  character  and  wild  adventures  of  the  hero  of  the 
Kentucky  wilderness  in  a  very  attractive  light.  The  boys  will  all 
be  in  agony  to  read  it." — Com.  Adv. 

VI.— LIFE  OF  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

By  Robert  Southey,  LL.D. 
This  is  by  far  the  ablest  written  Life  of  this  extraordinary  mait 
It  exhibits  some  striking  passages  of  his  career  in  a  true  light. 

VII.— riz:i.:r  ::a:;dolph. 

A  Tale  of  Virginia.     By  Mary  Gertrude. 
An  exceedingly  interesting  work  relating  to  the  Early  History  of 
the  Colony  of  Virginia. 

Vm.-IX.— HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH   REVQl 
LUTION, 

Ita  Causes  and  Consequences.     By  F.  Maclean  Rowaiu  ■ 
A  work  written  in  the  best  spirit,  and  adapted  for  universal  cir» 
eolation. 

%*  Other  works  of  equal  value  will  be  added  to  the  series. 


D.  Appleton  ^  Co.'s  Catalogue,  of  ValuaLlf  Works. 

FnSTORY  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE 
Translated  from  tlie  French  of  M.  Laurent  Dc  L'Ardcchc,  Mem. 
ber  of  the  Institute  of  France.  Illustrated  with  Five  Hundred 
Spirited  Plaics,  after  dcsii^ns  by  Horace  Vcrnet,  and  twenty 
Original  Portraits  of  the  most  distinguished  Generals  of  France, 
2  vols.  8vo.     $4  00. 

All  the  leading  journals  have  spoken  in  the  most  unqualified 
praise  of  this  work.     The  following  is  from  the  B(»st<)n  Traveller  i 

•♦  Af  a  chaste,  condensed,  failhfi-.l,  and  accurate  meoioii  of  the  (ircat  Captain,  U  li  wonfty  at 
mach  attention.  The  autlior  liiu  mniiily  drawn  the  n^ce^-sary  Tart*  of  hit  hiamry  frcm  llie  letlen, 
i|>eechet,  n^anifcEtocsi  bulletins,  aud  other  slate  papera  of  Nnpoleun,  and  lioi  givuu  a  coiuiderabU 
■  amber  of  these  in  hu  text. 

**  The  work  ia  superior  to  the  long  verbose  rrreluctiona  of  Scott  and  Bonniejine — not  Id  »tTl» 
•lone,  but  iu  uruih— r«ing  written  to  please  ne:tlier  CLarlea  X  nor  the  Knshfih  ariaiocracy— bat 
fer  Uie  caiue  of  Ireetlom.     U  baa  advantagei  over  every  other  memoir  extaul." 

THE   BOOK  OF  THE   NAVY; 

Comprising  a  General  History  of  the  Americaa  Marine,  and  parti 
cular  Accounts  of  all  the  most  Celebrated  Naval  Baf  lies,  from  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  to  the  present  time,  compiled  from 
the  best  authorities.  By  John  Frost,  Professor  of  Belles  Lcttrea 
in  the  High  School  of  Philadelphia.  AVith  an  Appendix,  con- 
taining Naval  Songs,  Anecdotes,  &c.  Einbcllislicd  with  nume- 
reus  original  Engravings  and  Portraits  of  distinguished  Naval 
Commanders.   Complete  in  one  handsome  volume,  8vo.   $100. 

"Thii  elecant  volume  Is  dedicated  to  the  present  Secretary  of  the  Navr,  and  ii  alto»ether  a  very 
Atithful  and  ninorical  record.  It  comprisea  twenty -two  chaptera,  deluiling  the  proinincnl  eveoa 
«»iuiected  with  the  uaval  history  of  the  Amcricau  federal  republic.  To  llie  Darralive  ia  aubjoitied 
an  appendix  of  tei'enty  pages,  including  tliirly-lwo  very  interesting  characlerialic  anealotes,  niii». 
teen  ly^C"!  Poenis,  and  a  minute  chronological  table  ot  event*  in  American  Naval  History.  It  U 
appropriately  adorned  wivti  steel  engraved  portraits,  numetoua  vienetics,  and  full  page  represent*. 
tloiu  of  various  conHicti  The  Book  of  the  Navy  dctervei,  auJ  will  doubtless  have,  a  very  exteoil* 
•d  circulation." — National  InteUigencer. 

INCIDENTS  OF  A  WHALING  VOYAGE.* 

To  which  is  added  Observations  on  the  Scenery,  Manners,  and 
Customs,  and  Missionary  Stations  of  the  Sandwich  and  Society 
Islands,  accompanied  by  numerous  plates.     By  Francis  Allyn 
Olmsted.     One  handsome  volume,  12mo.     $1  50. 
PICTORIAL   VICAR    OF  WAKEFIELD. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  By  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Elegantly  illus. 
trated  with  nearly  200  Engravings,  making  a  beautiful  vokime, 
octavo,  of  about  350  pages.     $1  25. 

"  We  love  to  luni  back  over  these  ricli  old  claisios  of  o>ir  own  language,  and  rejuvinate  onrselvet 


kytbe  never -failing  asfiociations  which  a  re-perii»al  always  calla  up.  l,ei  anv  one  who  haa  Dot 
raad  thi*  iirunortal  tale  for  fifteen  or  twenty  yLors,  try  the  experiniei.i,  and  we  will  warrant,  that  h« 
daetap  from  the  task — itic  pleasure  we  should  have  said— a  happier  and  a  hettcr  man."— 6a«.  Rqt. 


PICTORIAL    ROBINSON    CRUSOE. 

The  Life  and  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  Uy  Daniel  De 
Foe.  With  a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  and  an  £ssay  on  hii 
Writings,  illustrated  with  nearly  500  spirited  Engravings,  by 
the  celebrated  French  artist,  Grandvdie,  forming  one  elegant 
Tolume,  octavo,  of  500  pages.     $1    75. 

•  Wa»  there  e*cr  anything  written  by  mere  man  that  the  reader  wished  longer,  eicep*  RoUaioa 
Qtmoc.  I'on  Uuixolte,  and  the  fil^riiii's  Progress  l"~Or.  JnfitiMin. 

-  U2w  krvBv  thai  Ous  Die  ajo»<  uiural  of  lomaiicia,  i*  not  ouly  Uw  aMf  ebanainf  of  tookl  M 
toiM«iSii*rk>ri've.  — -^  unaaatx^ 


4        D.  Appleton  ^-  Co      Catalogue  of  Valuable  Works. 
SCRIPTUR k     AND    GEOLOGY. 

Ob  the  Relation  between  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  some  parts  of  Geolcgic«I 
Science.  By  John  P  i'E  Smith,  D.D.,  author  of  the  "  Scripture  Testimony 
of  the  Messiah,"  &c.  &c,     1  vol.  12mo.    $1  25. 

"The  volume  consists  of  eight  lectures,  to  which  are  appended  seventy 
pages  of  supplementary  not^.s.  The  first  lecture  is  introductory  ;  the  second 
ij  gcientifically  descriptive  of  the  principal  topics  of  geological  science  ;  the 
third  includes  a  research  into  the  creation  of  our  globe  ;  the  fouith  and  fifth 
lectures  comprise  an  examination  of  the  deluge  ;  the  sixth  discusses  the  appa- 
rent dissonance  between  the  decisions  of  geologists,  and  the  hitherto  re- 
aived  interpretation  of  Scripture,  with  an  additional  exposition  of  the  diluvial 
heory  ;  the  seventh  is  devoted  to  illustration  of  the  method  to  interpret  the 
Scriptures,  so  that  they  may  harmonize  with  the  discoveries  of  geology ;  the 
eighth  is  the  peroration  of  the  whole  disquisition. 

WORKS    BY    THE    REV.    DR.    SPRAGUE. 

TRUE  AKD  FALSE  RELIGION. 

Lectares  illustr  iting  the   Contrast  between  True   Christianity  and  varieiii 
<  thcr  rystems.    By  William  B.  Spkaque,  D.D     1  vol.  12mo.    $100. 

LECTURES  ON  REVIVALS  IN  RELIGION. 

Bf  W.  B.    Spkague,   D.D.    With  an    Introductory  Essay  by  Leorabd 
Woods,  D.D.    1  vol.  12mo.    87i  cents. 

LETTERS    TO    A   DAUGHTER 

ta  Ii  ♦  cal  Subjects.    By  W.  B.  Sprague,  D.D.    Fourth  edition,  revised 
and  enlarged.    1  vol.  12mo.    75  cents. 

LECTURES  TO  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

By  W.  B.  Spkaque,  D.D.  With  an  Introductory  Address.  By  Sahuel 
Miller,  D.D.  Fourth  edition.  1  vol.  12mo.  87i  cents. 
The  writings  of  Dr.  Sprague  are  too  well  known,  and  too  highly  estimated 
by  the  Christian  community  generally,  to  require  any  other  encomium  thaa 
is  furnished  by  their  own  merits  ;  for  this  reason  it  is  thought  unnecessary  to 
mbjoin  the  favourable  testimonies  borne  to  their  utility  and  excellence  by  the 
whole  circle  of  the  periodical  press  of  this  country,  and  the  fact,  that  they 
have  each  passed  through  several  editions  in  England,  sufficiently  attests  the 
vstimation  in  which  they  are  held  abroad. 

SPIRITUAL   CHRISTIANITY. 

Lectures  on  Spiritual  Christianity.  By  Isaac  Taylor,  author  of  "  Spiritual 
Despotism,"  &c.  &c.  1  vol  12mo.  75  cents. 
"This  work  is  the  production  of  one  of  tne  most  gifted  and  accomplished 
minds  of  the  present  age.  If  some  of  his  former  productions  may  have  bee» 
thought  characterized  by  too  much  metaphysical  abstraction,  and  in  some  uir 
etances,  by  speculations  of  doubtful  importance  the  present  volume  is,  we 
think,  in  no  degree  lialjle  to  this  objection.  It  is  indeed  distinguished  for  deep 
thought  and  accurate  discrimination:  and  whoever  would  read  it  to  advantage 
must  task  his  faculties  in  a  much  higher  degree,  than  in  reading  ordinary 
books:  and  yet  it  contains  notliing  which  an  ordinary  degree  of  intelligence 
and  apphcation  may  not  readily  comprehend.  The  view  which  it  gives  ol 
Christianity,  both  as  a  system  of  truth  and  a  system  of  duty,  is  in  the  higheel 
degree  instructive  ;  and  its  tendencies  are  not  less  to  quicken  the  intellectual 
faculties,  than  to  direct  and  elevate  the  moral  sensibilities.  We  have  no  douht 
that  it  will  be  read  with  great  interest  by  those  who  read  to  find  materials 
for  thought,  and  that  it  is  destined  to  exert  a  most  important  influence,  espe- 
cially on  the  more  intellectual  classes  in  the  advancement  of  the  interests  ol 
Uath  and  piety." — Albany  Evening  Jotcmml 


D.  Applcton  tj-  Co  'e  Catalogue  of  Valuable  Works. 

Works  by  the  Rev.  John  Angell  James. 

THE  TRUE  CHEISTIAN. 
Bj  the  Rev.  John  Angei.i.  James     With  au  Introduction  by  tho  Rav.  Wm. 
Adams.    1  vol.  JSi.io     $0  50, 

"  Wo  opine  llint  the  publishers  or  this  volume  made  an  accurate  caltulation  when  thor 
labelled  these  '  AJiU vines'— ttfreo(;/pefl;  fcT  they  are  :>mong  llin  choice  ert"uB:on9  whicl 
idready  have  so  In^hly  beuelileJ  Clnistiau  anciety  from  the  nob'e  liRnr  t  and  richly- 
andowed  iiiiiid  oriMr.  James.  They  .ire  iniiiisleriitt  counsels  to  the  memlieid  o{  uis  conEFS 
(Stion,  and  are  oll'ered  as  monlUly  epistles  tor  a  ypar,  being  twelve  in  number,  and  are  thu» 
eatiUeJ:  'Increased  Holiness  of  the  Cliurcli ;  Spirituahty  of  Mind:  lletvenly  Minded- 
■test;  Aasurince  of  Mope;  l'ra<'tical  Religion  s<fen  in  every  thing:  A  Prolitable  Sabbath.} 
Cliristiaa  Ubhg.ilions;  Life  of  Faith  ;  Inlluence  of  eider  Christians;  Spirit  of  Prayer;  Pd' 
ra.tm  Pra>er,  and  SeifJixaminntion.'  "—Chritlian  IntelUgenctr. 

THE  YOUNG-  MAN  FROM  HOME. 
Itt  a  scries  of  Letters,  especially  directed  for  the  Moral  Advancement  nf  Youth 
By  the  Kev  John  Angell  James.    Tenth  edition.    1  vol.  18nio.   37i  cts 
"TUia  work,  from  the  able  and  prolific  pen  of  Mr.  James,  is  not  inferior,  we  think,  to  an* 


«f  its  oredecessors.  It  cnitemplales  a  youni;  man  at  the  most  critical  period  of  life,  an 
*B«ets  oim  at  every  point  as  a  guide  in  the  paths  of  virtue,  as  a  guard  fium  the  coata{ioM 
■Uluaoce  of  vice."— Albany  AUcer titer. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  PROFESSOR, 
Addressed  in  a  series  of  Counsels  and  Cautions  to  the  Members  of  Christian 
Churches.  By  the  Rer.  John  Angell  James.  1  vol.  18nio.  62i^  centa. 
"Th«  author  remarks  in  this  excellent  volume;  'When  I  look  into  the  New  Testament 
«m1  read  what  a  Christian  t/iould  be,  and  then  look  into  the  Church  of  (iod,  and  see  what 
Christians  are,  I  am  painfully  afl'ected  by  observing  the  dissimilarity,  and  in  my  jealousy  Cot 
lh«  honour  of  the  ChrisUan  profession,  h.ive  made  this  elfort,  perhaps  a  feeble  one,  and  cer 
taialy  an  anxious  one,  to  remove  its  blemishes,  to  restore  its  impaired  beauty,  and  thus  niis* 
to  reputation.'  " 

THE  ANXIOUS  ENQUIRER  AFTER  SALVATION 

Directed  and  Encouraged,     iiy  the  Rev.  John  Angell  James.    1  vok 

18nio.   37i  cents. 

Twenty  thousand  copies  of  this  excellent  little  volume  havo  already  beea 

•old,  which  fully  attests  the  high  estimation  the  work  has  attained  with  tha 

religious  comnmnity. 

HAPPINESS,  ITS  NATURE  AND  SOURCES. 

By  the  Rev.  J.  A.  James.    1  vol.  32ino.  25  cents. 

"  This  is  written  in  the  excellent  author's  best  vein.     He  has,  witli  a  searching  fidelity, 

exposed  the  various  ansaiisfymg  expedients  by  which  the  natural   heart  seeks  to   attain  tbtt 

(reatend  and  aim  of  all— happiness,  and  wiili  powerful  and  touching  exhoitations  directad  it 

to  tlie  oever-faihnj  source  oi  all  good." — Euange'isl. 

THE  WIDOW  DIRECTED 
To  the  Widow's  G-od.  By  the  Rev.  John  A.  James.  1  vol.  ISmo.  37|  cents, 

"The  book  l«  worthy  to  be  read  by  others  besides  the  cUjs  for  which  it  is  especially  d*- 
npted  ;  a'ld  we  doubt  not  th.-it  it  de.-tined  to  come  as  a  friendly  visitor  to  many  a  house  cl 
Sioarning,  and  as  a  healing  balm  to  many  a  wounded  heart."— iV  V.  Observer. 

CRUDEN'S   CONCORDANCE. 

OonUining  all  t)i«  Wonls  to  be  found  in  the  large  Work  relating  to  the  New 
Testameut.    1  vol.  ISmo.     50  cents. 

THE  POLYMIORIAN  NEW  TESTAMENT. 
Kuincious  References,  Maps,  &c.     1  vol.  18ino.     50  centa 

THE   SACRED   CHOIR: 

A  COLLECTION   OF   CHURCH  MUSIC: 
Conristing  of  Selections  fnun  the  most  dislmyuislied   auilmrs,   among  whoa 
are  the  numcs  of  IIavdn,   Mozaut,  Beethoven,  Peugoi.essi,  <fec.  &c. 
wilh  several  pieces  of  Music  by  the  aulhnr  ;  also  a  Progressive  Elementary 
8}-stem  of  Instruction  for  I'lipils.     By  Georoe  Kingmlby,  author  of  the  So- 
vt(C  Caju    ikc   A*      Fourth  edition      $0  75 


Z).  ^vpleton  ^  Co.' 8  Catalogue  of  Valuable  Publications, 
THE  YOUNG  STUDENT; 

Or,  Ralph  and  Victor.  By  Madame  Guizot.  From  the  French,  by  Samoel 
Jackson.  One  elegant  volume  of  500  pages,  with  illustrations.  Price  73 
cents." 

"This  volume  of  biograpliical  incidents  is  a  striking  picture  of  javenila 
life.  To  all  that  numberless  class  of  youth  who  are  passing  through  theii 
literary  education,  whetiier  in  boarding-schools  or  academies,  in  the  colle- 
giate course,  or  the  preparatory  studies  connected  with  them,  we  know 
cothing  more  precisely  fitted  to" meliorate  their  character,  and  direct  their 
course,  subordinate  to  the  higher  authority  of  Christian  ethics,  than  thi« 
excellent  delineation  of  '  The  Young  Student,'  by  Madame  Guizot.  It  is  a 
perfect  reflecting  mirror,  in  which  tlie  whole  race  may  behold  the  resolution, 
the  impetuosity,  and  the  disobedient  tendencies  of  their  own  hearts,  as  ex- 
amplified  in  the  liistory  of  Kalph  ;  and  the  moral  daring,  dignify,  and  triumph, 
exhibited  by  Victor.  But  it  is  not  tJie  son  alone  who  is  taught  by  Madame 
Guizot — every  father,  also,  who  has  children  still  under  tlie  age  ot  manhood, 
and  even  '  grandpas,'  can  derive  rich  edification  from  the  example  of  Ralph'a 
fether  and' Victor's  guardianship.  The  French  Academy  were  correct  in 
their  judgment  when  ihey  pronounced  Madame  Guizot'i  Student  the  best 
book  of  the  year." — JV.  Y,  Courier  4'  Enquirer. 

THE  CHILD'S  OWN  STORY  BOOK; 

Or,  Tales  and  Dialogues  for  the  Nursery.  By  Mrs.  Jerram,  (late  Jixt» 
Elizabeth  Holmes.)  Illustrated  with  numerous  Engravings.  Elegantlj 
bound,  v?ith  gold  stamp  on  side.    Price  50  cents 

Author's  Preface.— In  writing  the  following  pages,  my  most  earnest 
desire  has  been  to  awaken  in  the  hearts  of  little  children,  ktndly  and  aifeo- 
tiouate  feelings  towards  each  other,  submission  and  loving  confidence  to- 
vards  their  parents,  and  reverence  and  love  towards  God.  This  I  have 
Bttempted  in  describing  scenes  and  objects  most  of  which  must  be  familial 
to  every  child.  The  language  I  have  used  is  the  easiest  I  could  command, 
•o  that  a  child  of  three  years  old  may  understand  it. 

VERY  LITTLE  TALES, 

For  rery  Little  Children.    In  single  syllables  of  three  and  four  letters. 

From  the  sixth  London  edition  ;  illustrated  with  numercus  engiavinga^ 

Elegantly  bound  in  cloth.    Price  37  1-2  cents. 

The  type  of  this  little  volume  is  quite  a  curiosity,  it  is  so  large. 

"The  suitableness  of  this  little  work  to  its  object,  is  proved  by  the  faet 
that  the  first  edition  went  off  within  three  weeks  from  the  day  of  its  publica- 
tion, and  that  a  fourth  was  required  in  a  few  months.  It  is  designed  for 
children  who  have  just  acquired  the  knowledge  of  their  alphabet  j  a  period 
in  juvenile  education  which  has  been  hitherto  left  without  any  provision  of 
the  kind  " — Extract  from  Preface. 

LUCY  AND  ARTHUR; 

A  Book  for  Children.      Illustrated  with  numerous  engravings,  elegtntfy 

bound  in  cloth.    Price  50  cents. 

Contents.— I.  The  Nursery.  II.  The  Little  Black  Pony.  IIL  The 
Little  Gardens.  IV.  The  Day's  Work.  V.  The  Walk.  VI.  Mamma'i 
Stories.     VII.  Papa's  Stories.     VIII.  Sunday. 

"  This  is  a  book  in  advance  of  the  "  Very  Little  Ta»es,"  and  intended  for 
eider  lads  and  misses,  to  whom  it  will  doubtless  prove  at  aoceptati/d  giA.' 


D.  Appleion  ^  Co.^s  Catalogue  of  Valuable  Worh$. 

PALMER'S 

TREATISE    ON    THE    CHURCH. 

\  Treatise  on  the  Church  of  Christ.  Designed  chiefly  for  the 
use  of  Students  in  Theoloj^y.  By  the  Rev.  William  Palmer, 
M.A.,  of  Worcester  College,  Oxford.  Edited,  with  Notes,  by 
the  Right  Rev.  W.  R.  Wliittingham,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  the  Pro. 
testant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  Diocese  of  Maryland.  Two 
vols.  8vo.,  handsomely  printed  on  fine  paper.     $5  00. 

"  The  treatise  of  nir.  Palmer  is  the  best  exposition  and  vindication  of  Cluirch  Principlm 
that  we  have  ever  read  ;  excelling  contemfioraneous  treatises  in  depth  of  learning  and  soli- 
dity of  Judgment,  as  much  as  itexcels  older  treatises  on  the  like  tubjects,  m  adaptation  to 
tb«  wants  and  habits  of  the  age.  Of  its  influence  in  Knghnd,  where  it  lias  passed  through 
two  editions,  we  have  not  the  means  to  form  an  opinion  ;  but  we  believe  that  in  this  country 
it  has  already,  even  before  its  reprint,  done  more  to  restore  the  sound  tone  of  Cathohc  prin- 
eiplea  and  feeline  than  any  oUier  one  work  of  the  age.  The  author's  learning  aud  powers  oi 
combination  and  arrangement,  great  as  they  obviously  are,  are  less  remarkable  than  the  stert 
ing  good  sense,  the  vigorous  and  solid  judgment,  which,  is  everywhere  manifest  in  the  treiv 
tiue,  and  confers  on  it  its  distinctive  excellence.  Tbe  style  of  the  author  is  distinguished  for 
dignity  and  masculine  energy,  whiie  his  tone  is  everywhere  natural;  on  proper  occasions, 
reverential;  and  always,  so  far  as  we  remember,  sufficiently  conciliatory. 

"  To  our  clergy  and  intelligent  laity,  who  desire  to  see  the  Church  justly  discriminated 
firom  Romanists  on  the  one  hand,  and  dissenting  denominations  on  the  other,  we  earnestly 
coamend  Palmer's  Treatise  on  the  Church."— iV.  Y.  ChurcJtman. 

PAROCHIAL    SERMONS, 

BY   JOHN    HENRY    NEWMAN,    B.D., 

Fellow  of  the  Oriel  College  and  Vicar  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin'^ 
Oxford.     The  six  volumes  of  the  London  edition  complete  ia 
twoelegantSvo.volumesof  upwards  of  600  pages  each.  $5  00. 
95"  Mr.  Newman's  Sermons  have  probably  attained  a  higher  character 
than  any  others  ever  published  in  this  country.    The  following  recom- 
mendatory letter  (is  one  of  the  many)  received  by  the  publishers  during 
their  progress  through  the  press. 

From  the  Bishop  of  North  Carolina. 

Raleigh,  Nov.  28, 1848. 
Yoar  letter  announcing  your  intention  to  republish  the  Parochial  Sermons  of  the  Rev.  Join 
Henry  Newman,  B.U.,  Oxford,  has  given  me  sincere  pleasure.  In  complying  with  yoor 
request  for  my  opinion  of  them,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,— after  a  con.stant  use  of  therom  my 
closet,  and  an  ob.^ervation  of  their  effect  upon  some  of  my  friends,  for  the  last  six  years,— that 
they  are  among  the  very  best  practical  sermons  in  the  English  language ;  that  while  they  ars 
free  from  those  extravagances  of  opinion  usually  ascribed  to  the  author  of  the  90th  Tract, 
they  assert  in  the  strongest  manner  the  true  doctrines  of  the  Reformation  in  England,  and  ea 
force  with  peculiar  solemnity  and  efl'ect  that  holiness  of  life,  with  the  means  thereto,  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  Fathers  of  that  trying  age.  With  high  respect  and  esteem,  your  friend  and 
•ervaat,  L.  S.  IVES. 

HARE'S    PAROCHIAL    SERMONS. 

Sermons  to  a  Country  Congregation.  By  Augustus  William 
Hare,  A.M.,  late  Fellow  of  New  College,  and  Rector  of  Alton 
Barneii.     One  volume,  royal  8vo.     $2  25. 

*•  Anyone  who  can  Se  pleased  with  delicacy  of  thought  expressed  in  t^ .  most  simple  Ian 
ruage — any  one  who  ean  feci  the  charm  of  linding  practical  duties  ehicioated  and  enforce* 
Bjr  apt  and  raritL.  il!ustration3--will  be  delighted  with  this  volume,  which  presents  ua  with  titt 

ATKingg  of  a  piuuk  and  highly  gifted  miafi.'^—Quar.  Kevieta. 


D  Appleton  ^  Co  's  Catalogue  of  Valuable  Worltt. 

Cabinet  Edition  of  the  Poets. 

COWPER'S   COMPLETE    POEtTcAL 
WORKS. 

Tlie  complete  Poetical  Works  of  William  Cowper,  Esq.,  including 
the  Hymns  and  Translations  from  Mad.  Guion,  Milton,  dec,  ana 
Adam,  a  Sacred  Drama,  from  the  Italian  of  Battista  Aadreini, 
with  a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  by  the  Rev.  Henry  Stebbing,  A.M. 
Two  elegantly  printed  volumes,  400  pages  each,  l6mo.,  witi* 
beautiful  frontispieces.     $1  75. 

This  is  the  only  complete  American  edition. 
Morality  never  found  in  genius  a  more  devoted  advocate  than  Cowper,  not 
has  moral  wisdom,  in  its  plain  and  severe  precepts,  been  evermore  succeM 
fully  combined  ^v1th  the  delicate  spirit  of  poetry,  than  in  his  works.  Hb 
was  endowed  with  all  the  powers  which  a  poet  could  want  who  was  to  be  the 
moralist  of  tlie  world — the  reprover,  but  not  the  satirist,  of  men— the  teacher 
c»f  simple  tniths,  which  were  to  be  rendered  gracious  without  endangering 
Sbeir  simplicity. 

BURNS'   COMPLETE  POETICAL 
WORKS. 

Tlie  complete  Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Bums,  with  Explanatory 
and  Glossarial  Notes,  and  a  Life  of  the  Author,  by  James  Cut- 
tie,  M.D.     1  vol.  16mo.     U  25.^ 

This  is  the  most  complete  edition  which  has  been  published,  and  coirtains 
the  whole  of  the  poetry  comprised  in  the  edition  lately  editei  by  Cunningham, 
is  well  as  some  additional  pieces  ;  and  such  notes  have  been  added  as  arecai' 
GOlated  to  illustrate  the  manners  and  customs  of  Scotland,  so  as  to  reader  thJo 
«hole  more  intelligible  to  the  English  reader. 

"  No  poet,  with  the  exception  of  Shakspeare,  ever  possessed  t'he  power  of 
eixciting  the  most  varied  and  discordant  emotions  with  such  rapid  transitions." 
—Sir  W.  Scott. 

MILTON'S   COMPLETE    POETICAL 
WORKS. 

llic  complete  Poetical  Works  of  John  Milton,  with  Explanatory 
Notes  and  a  Life  of  the  Author,  by  the  Rev.  Henry  Stabbing, 
A.M.     Beautifully  illustrated.     1  vol.  IGmo.     $125. 
The  Latin  and  Italian  Poems  are  included  in  this  edition. 
Mr.  Stebbing's  notes  will  be  found  very  useful  in  elucidating  the  learned 

tfUusions  with  which  the  text  abounds,  and  they  are  also  valuable  for  tba 

correct  appreciation  with  which  the  writer  directs  attention  to  the  b6«i> 

ties  of  the  author. 

SCOTT'S   POETICAL  NA^ORKS. 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.— Containii:|,  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,  Marmion,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Don  Rode- 
rick, Rokeby,   Ballads,  Lyrics,  and  Songs,  with  a  Life  of  the 
Author.    Uniform  with  Cowper,  Bums,  &c.    1  vol.  16mo  $1  25. 
**  Waker  Scott  is  the  most  popular  of  all  the  poets  of  the  present  day,  and  d»- 
wnredly  so.    He  describes  that  which  is  most  easily  and  generally  understood 
with  more  vivacity  and  effect  than  any  other  writer.     His  style  is  cle»r,  {lowicj 
«nd  transparent ;  his  sentiments,  of  which  his  style  is  an  easy  and  uaturai  Vta 
Sim,  u-e  common  to  him  with  his  roadora."— HaaW^. 


D.  Appleton  ^-  Co.*8  Catalogue  oj  Valuable  WoTki 

GENERAL  HISTORY   OF  CIVILIZAtTo T 

n  Europe,  from  the  fall  of  tli"  Roman  Empire,  to  the  French  Revolutior. 

Oy  M.  Guizot,  Professor  o\  History  to  the  Faculty  des  Leltres  of  Paris 

Printed  from  the  second  English  edition,  v.-ith  Occasional  Notes,  bv  C.  S 

Henry,  D.D.,  of  Now  York.    One  handsome  volume,  12mo.    $100. 

The  third  edition  of  this  valuable  work  has  just  appeared,  with  numet 

OILS  and  useful  notes,  by  Professor  Henry,  of  the  University  of  New-York 

M.  Guizot,  in  his  instructive  lectures  has  given  an  epitome  of  Modern  His 

tory.  distinguished  by  all  the  merits  wliich  in  anollier  department,  render* 

Slackstone  a  subject  of  such  peculiar  and  unbounded  praise ;  a  work  close 

I7  condensed,  including  nohing  useless  and  omitting  nothing  essential 

written  with  grace,  and  conceived  and  arranged  with  consummate  abihty, 

THE   NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  SOCIETY 

IN  THE  EARBAEOUS  AND  CIVILIZED  STATE. 
An  Essay  towards  Discovering  the  Origin  and  Course  of  Human  Improve 
ment.     By  W.  Cooke  Taylor,  LL.D.,  &c.,  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin 
Handsomely  printed  on  fine  paper.    2  vols.  12mo     $2  25. 
"The  design  of  this  work  is  to  determine,  from  an  examination  of  the 
various  forms  in  wliich  society  has  been  found,  what  was  the  origin  ol 
civilization  ;  and  under  what  circumstances  those  attributes  of  humanity 
which  in  one  country  become  the  foundation  of  social  happiness,  are  in  an- 
other perverted  to  the  production  of  general  misery.' 

CARLYLE  ON    HISTORY  So  HEROES. 

On  Heroes,  Hero-Worship,  and  the  Heroic  in  History.  Six  Lectures,  re 
ported  with  Emendations  and  Additions,  by  Thomas  Carlyle,  author  of 
the  French  Revolution,  Sartor  Resartus,  &c.  Elegantly  printed  in  1 
vol.  12mo.    Second  edition.    $1  (JO. 

"  And  here  we  must  close  a  work — such  as  we  have  seldom  seen  the 
fike  ef,  and  one  which  redeems  the  literature  of  our  superficial  and  manu 
facturing  period.  It  is  one  to  purify  our  nature,  expand  our  ideas,  and  ex- 
alt our  souls.  Let  no  library  or  book-room  be  without  it ;  the  more  it  is 
studied  the  more  it  will  be  esteemed."— izicrary  Gazette. 

SOUTHEY'S    POETICAL   NA^ORKS. 

rhe  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Southey,  Esq.,  LL.D.     The  ten 
volume  London  edition  in  one  elegant  royal  8vo.  volume,  with  a  fine  por 
trait  and  vignette,    $3  50. 
*,*  This  edition,  which  the  author  has  arranged  and  revised  with  the 

jame  care  as  if  it  v.eie  intended  for  posthumous  publication,  includes  many 

pieces  which  either  have  never  before  been  collected,  or  have  liilherto  ra 

mained  unpublished. 

SCHLEGEL'S    PHILOSOPHY   OF 
HISTORY. 

Tje  Philosophy  of  Ilistor}',  in  a  course  of  Lectures  delivered  at  Vienna,  by 
Frederick  von  Schlegel,  translated  from  the  German,  with  a  Memoir  of 
the  Author,  by  J.  B  Robertson.  Handsomely  printed  on  fine  paper.  3 
vols.  12mo.    $2  50. 

THE  LIFE  OF  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

Edited  by  his  son,  John  C.  Hamilton.    2  vols.  8vo.    $5  00. 
'♦  We  cordiar.)  recommend  the  perusal  and  diligent  study  of  these  vot 
uiT»es,  exhibitiner,  as  they  do,  much  valuable  matter  relative  to  the  Revo- 
ution,  the  ee'ab  isliment  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  other  importani 
•"ventfc  '  Ann  ils  of  our  country."— iVeio-  York  Review. 


3         D.  Appleton  ^  CoJ's  Catalogue  of  Valuable  Works. 

BURNET    ON   THE    XXXIX.   ARTICLES. 

An  Exposition  of  the  Thirty-nine  Arncicb  ot  the  Ch'^rch  of  Eng- 
land. By  Gilbert  Burnet,  U.T>.,  late  Bishop  of  Salisbury. 
With  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Augsburg  Confession — Creed 
of  Pope  Pias  IV  ,  &c.  Revised  and  corrected,  with  copious 
Notes  and  additional  References,  by  the  Kev.  James  R.  Page, 
A.M.,  of  Queen's  College,  Camorldge.  In  one  handaome  8vo 
volume.     ^2  00. 

"  No  Churchman,  no  Theologian,  can  stand  in  need  of  information  as  to 
the  character  or  viilue  of  Bishoo  BiirneVa  ZxposiMon,  wnicii  long  since  tooli 
its  fitting  place  as  one  of  me  acknowledged  and  admired  standaHs  of  liie 
Uhurch.  It  IS  only  needful  that  we  speak  of  the  labon<-«  of  uie  editor  of  '.tte 
present  eaiuor.,  and  these  aooear  to  blsr.d  a  nuing  modesty  wiui  eminent 
Industry  and  judgment.  Thus,  while  Mr.  rage  nas  carei'iiiy  vennea,  and 
hi  many  instances  corrected  ana  enlarged  the  references  to  the  FatherBj 
Councils  and  other  authorities,  and  greaily  multipli?jdthe  Scripture  citations 
—for  the  Bishop  seems  in  many  cases  to  have  'orgotlen  that  his  readers 
would  not  all  be  as  familiar  with  the  5>aored  Text  as  himself,  and  might  no; 
es  readily  find  a  passage  even  when  they  Knew  u  esislea— .le  'Mr.  P.)  haa 
^rupulously  leift  the  text  untouched,  and  added  whatever  illustrauve  maU 
ler  he  has  been  able  to  gather  in  the  form  of  Notes  and  an  Appendix. 
Tl«  documents  collected  in  the  latter  are  of  great  and  abiding  value." 

PEARSON    ON    THE    CREED. 

An   Exposition  of  the  Creed.      By  John  Pearson,   D.D.,  late 

Bishop  of  Chester.     With  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Principal 

Greek  and  Latin  Creeds.     Revised  and  corrected  by  the  Rev. 

W.  S.  Dobson,  M.  A.,  Peterhouse,  CamLridge.     In  one  hanasoine 

8vo.  volume.     $2  00. 
The  foUovjing  may  be  stated  as  the  advantages  of  this  edition  over  all  others 

First— Great  care  has  been  taken  to  correct  the  numerous  errors  in  the 
references  to  the  texts  of  Scripture  which  had  crept  in  by  reason  of  the  re- 
peated editions  through  which  this  admirable  work  has  passed  ;  and  many 
references,  as  will  be  seen  on  turning  to  the  Index  of  Texts,  have  been  added, 

Secondly— The  Quotations  in  the  Notes  have  been  almost  universally 
identified  and  the  references  to  them  adjoined. 

Lastly— The  principal  Symbola  or  Creeds,  of  which  the  particular  Article* 
have  been  cited  by  the  author,  have  been  annexed  ;  and  wherever  the  orl* 
glnal  writers  have  given  the  Symbola  in  a  scattered  and  disjointed  manner, 
wio  detached  parts  have  been  brought  into  a  successive  and  connected  point 
ef  view.  These  have  been  added  in  chronological  order  in  the  form  of  an 
Appendix.— Vide  Editor. 

Jfla^ee  on  Jlionemcnt  and  Sacrifice* 

Discourses  and  Dissertations  on  the  Scriptural  Doctrines  of  Atone- 
mpnt  and  Sacrifice,  and  on  the  Principal  Arguments  advanced, 
and  the  Mode  of  Reasoning  employed  by  the  Opponents  of 
those  Doctrines,  as  held  by  the  EstabUshed  Church.  By  the 
late  most  Rev.  Wm.  M'Gee,  D.D.,  Archbishop  of  Dublin. 
Two  vols,  royal  8vo.  beautifully  printed.     ^5  00. 

"'lliisisone  of  the  nlilest  critical  and  pole:/iical  works  of  rnotlern  times.  Archbisliep  Miigeel 
nUy  a  tnaleus  hereticolum.  H»  'i  an  exielleiit  scholar,  an  acme  reasoiier,  and  is  po&sessol  of  a 
Biosl  extensive  acquaimance  witn  llie  wide  field  of  argument  lo  which  his  volumes  are  devoted— It* 
Drofound  liiblical  hilornuiiioii  on  a  variety  of  topics  wlii*!*!  Uie  Arcliljisliop  urings  forwanl,  BVUtC- 
OMX  .tu  uaii.e  to  al  lloveis  ol  Clirisaaiiiur.'' — O'ine 


i        D.  AppletOA  ^  Co:*  Catalogue  of  Valuable   WorJf, 

THE    KINGDOM    OF    CHRIST; 

Or,  Hints  rcspcctincr  the  Principles,  Constitution,  nnd  Oidinancc* 
of  the  Catholic  Church.  By  Frederick  Denison  Mauricb, 
M.  A.  Chaplain  of  Guy's  Hospital,  Professor  of  English  Litera 
ture  and  History,  King's  College,  London.  In  one  elegant  oo 
tavo  voliune  of  600  pages,  uniform  in  style  with  Newman'* 
Sermons,  Palmer  on  the  Church,  &c.     $2  50. 

"  Nr.  Maurice's  work  is  eminently  fitted  to  engage  tlie  attention  and  meet  the  wantsi  of  al 
hnerejted  in  tlie  several  movements  lliat  are  now  taking  place  in  tlie  religious  community  ;  il 
takes  up  the  pietensions  generally  of  tlie  several  rn.tustant  denominations  and  of  tlie  Ro- 
manistd,  so  as  to  commend  itself  in  the  growing  interest  in  the  controversy  between  the  lat- 
Vtt  and  their  opponents.  The  political  poilion  of  the  work  contains  much  that  is  attractive 
to  a  thoughtful  man'^qf  any  or  of  no  religious  persuasion,  ia  refereace  to  the  existing  and  p«M 
■ihi*  future  Ktate  of  our  country." 

A    MANUAL    FOR    COMM  U  N  ICANTS  j 

Oi  the  Order  for  Administering  the  Holy  Communion ;  conveniently  ar- 
ranged with  Meditations  and  Prayers  from  Old  English  Divine^,  being 
the  Eucharistica  of  Samuel  Wilberforce,  M.A.,  Archdeacon  of  Surry, 
(adapted  to  the  American  service.)  Convenient  size  for  the  pocke* 
37J  cents— gilt  edges  50  cents. 

"  These  meditations,  prayeis,  and  expositions,  are  given  in  the  very  words  of  the  illjstr> 
<»•  divines,  martyrs,  confessors,  and  doctors  of  the  Church;  and  tli»y  form  altogether 
such  a  body  of  instr-ictive  matter  as  is  nownere  else  to  be  found  in  the  same  oonv 
yas*.  Though  collected  from  various  authors,  the  whole  is  pervaded  by  a  unity  of  spirit  and 
purpose;  and  we  most  earnestly  commend  tlie  work  as  better  lilted  than  any  other  whie^ 
we  know,  to  subserve  tlie  ends  of  sound  edification  and  fervent  and  substantial  devctioo. 
The  American  rejirint  has  been  edited  by  a  deacon  of  great  promise  in  the  Church,  and  is  a»- 
fropriately  dedicated  to  the  Bishop  of  this  diocese."— CAure/»>n<zn. 


OGILBY  ON   LAY-BAPTISM: 

An  Outline  on  the  Argument  against  the  Validity  of  Lay-Baptism.  By  the 
Rev.  John  D.  Ogilby,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical  History.  One 
Tolume  12mo.,  75  cents. 

"We  have  benn  favoured  with  a  copy  of  the  above  work,  and  lose  no  time  in  annoonchfc 
its  pablication.  Krom  a  cursory  inspection  of  it,  we  take  it  to  baa  thorough,  fearless,  ana 
very  able  discus'ion  of  the  subject  which  it  proposes,  aiiniag  less  to  excite  inquiry,  than  to 
Mtts^,  by  iea/ited  andingenious  argument,  inquiries  already  excited." — C/tui-cn.nan. 

THE    PRIMITIVE     DOCTRINE    OP 
ELECTI O  N  : 

Or,  an  Ilistorical  Inquiry  into  the  Ideality  and  Causation  of  Scriptural 
Election,  as  received  and  maintamed  in  the  Primitive  Cnurcn  ol  Christ 
By  Geoige  Stanley  Fabcr,  B.D.,  author  of  "  Difficulties  of  Romanism,* 
"Difitcultics  of  Infidelity,"  <tc.    Complete  m  one  volume  octavo.  $1  75. 

"  Mr.  Faber  verifies  bis  opinion  by  demonstration.  AVe  cannot  p!>y  a  higher  reepect  to  Ul 
track  than  by  recomiueBdin.'  it  U^  ali  "— C'tiwcA  o/'  England  Quarurty  licvitta. 


Date  Due 

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